


A Tale of Woo

by Veritas03



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritas03/pseuds/Veritas03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s a bit of a mess, despite a successful Quidditch career. Draco’s not <i>too</i> much of a mess, but believes his life is as good as it’s likely to get. Both want something more. Fate is going to help them out with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Woo

**Author's Note:**

> Author: veritas03  
> Prompter: oakstone730  
> Prompt Number: 36  
> Title: A Tale of Woo  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Past Draco/Oliver, Almost Harry/OMC, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Hannah, Dennis/Astoria, George/Angelina  
> Summary: Harry’s a bit of a mess, despite a successful Quidditch career. Draco’s not _too_ much of a mess, but believes his life is as good as it’s likely to get. Both want something more. Fate is going to help them out with that.  
>  Rating: R  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): If you have an erection lasting more than four hours, contact your doctor? Nothing related to the fic, though.  
> Epilogue compliant? Pfft. Not a chance.  
> Word Count: 25,200  
> Author's Notes: Thank you, Mystery Prompter, for this very cool prompt! I loved the idea of the bondlines and bondmarks. Hope you like what I did with that. I believe I incorporated most of what you asked for – you had such great ideas for this story. This was fun to write, despite ALL THE THINGS conspiring to keep me from getting it finished. My beta, saras_girl, is totally BADASS and I appreciate her tremendously. Beyond the beta-thing, she provided encouragement, idea-bouncing, sanity-maintaining, laughter, AND she came up with the title for the fic. Just total Beta Badassedness. And the Mods of this fest? Shall surely be generously rewarded in the hereafter, because they have the patience of saints. I’m looking at you Dysonrules. Thank you for encouraging me and just putting up with me in general. You are awesome and a huge part of what makes this fest so great. THANK YOU!!

_December 2006:_

 

Harry Potter had a problem; he acknowledged it and even willingly accepted it. Well… more willingly when drunk, than sober.

 

The problem wasn’t the drink. It was… circumstances. A particular circumstance, in fact, that, when combined with copious amounts of alcohol, repeatedly led Harry to do something that he would always look upon later with a combination of humor, regret, and more than a touch of mortification.

 

If drink was the catalyst, Draco Malfoy was the circumstance. Or, rather, happening upon Draco Malfoy. When drunk. That is to say, when Harry was drunk. Not Draco. Or, Draco could be drunk. Or not. Draco’s state of sobriety didn’t seem to impact the outcome of _the thing_ that occurred whenever Harry happened upon Draco. When drunk. The _thing_ that was the problem.

 

Although… perhaps being drunk was the circumstance, and Draco was the catalyst? Perhaps Hermione would be impressed by the fact that Harry could use the word ‘catalyst’ in at least a semi-correct context when he was drunk. Even if it was only in his head and not aloud. Ooh! And ‘context’ – that was a good word, too. He hoped he could remember to tell Hermione all about his masterful use of vocabulary when he got back to England.

 

Although, Hermione would probably not be pleased to know that Harry had come on to Draco _yet again_. When drunk. He thought she’d probably be okay with it if he was sober when he tried it on with Draco. But, true to the circumstance of the problem, he never seemed to see Draco when he was sober. Harry thought he probably should evaluate whether that said more about the frequency of his inebriation, or the fact that Draco was an elusive little bugger who only seemed to show up when Harry had been drinking. And since Draco had to know that Harry would be out celebrating or commiserating with his team after every match, it meant Draco must _purposely_ come round when he knew Harry would be in his cups.

 

He hadn’t realized he verbalized that last bit aloud until Draco, eyebrow all arched and judgy, sneered a response. “Once again, Potter, you’re making the assumption that you are the absolute center of the universe, and the rest of humanity only act, speak, and breathe in response to your every whim.”

 

Well, that statement was far too complicated to process all in one go. Harry shook his head emphatically to negate Draco’s over-reaction – and perhaps to clear his head a bit, as well. “Yer a problem! No! I mean to say yer a cirmum… mumstance! Wait! Tha’s not it. You, you’re a capilist. Catapilist. _Catalyst_! Yeah! Tha’s it!” For further, final emphasis, he pointed his finger in Draco’s direction, smoke trailing from the cigarette he held in his hand.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco said, trying to dissipate the smoke by waving his hand. “Ugh, Potter. Why must you insist on smoking those disgusting things? As if you’re not already offensive enough.”

 

In an effort to be accommodating – the goal here was seduction, after all – Harry stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. At least, he hoped it was the ashtray and not the bar itself. And he wondered when he had smudged his glasses. Things seemed a bit fuzzier all of a sudden. No matter – on with the seduction!

 

“’Mione says I’m ‘orally fixated’,” he answered earnestly, with the careful enunciation of someone who was trying to sound much less soused than he was. “’Cause of my childhood.”

 

Draco was actually looking at him now. No sneer or exasperation evident. Harry made himself sit very still, hoping to make the moment last, but having no idea what had actually caused the sudden difference in Draco’s demeanor.

 

“Now that’s something I’d actually like to hear about,” Draco said, finally. “Your childhood. Lots of rumor and speculation there.”

 

“Pfft! Read a book,” Harry said. “Lots of ‘em written ‘bout it all since the war.”

 

“I have done,” Draco scoffed. “But, ‘history written by the victors’ and all that.”

 

Harry sighed deeply, slumping a bit onto the bar, hand under his chin to prop up his suddenly heavy head. “Well,” he said quietly, “I don’t really like to talk about it.” He watched as Draco took a sip of his drink and turned away to look around the bar.

 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Draco said absently, his attention no longer on Harry. Harry did not approve.

 

“Nope,” Harry said, laying a hand upon Draco’s thigh. “I was talking ‘bout being fissated. _Orally_ ,” he added with a leer.

 

“Sweet Merlin, you were seriously using that as a pick up line?” Draco asked, pushing Harry’s hand off his thigh. “I had honestly hoped it was just more of your drunken rambling.”

 

Before Harry could address that, a hand clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him from his stool. He sent a small smile to Draco for reaching out to help keep him upright, before turning a disgruntled look upon his interloping friend and teammate, Oliver Wood.

 

“Drunken rambling?” Oliver grinned. “Is this the point in the evening when Harry tries to pull you, Draco?”

 

“Apparently, yes,” Draco said. “Coming, as usual, during the portion of the evening where you leave me on my own to go rehash each play of today’s match with every single person in the bar – despite having insisted that I meet you here after so we can catch up.”

 

Oliver’s look of surprised disbelief was comical. “No, l…” He spent a few moments in obvious reflection, looking around the bar populated largely with several members of both Puddlemere United and the Ballycastle Bats. He turned back to Draco with a heavy sigh and said, “This is one of those things that made me a crap boyfriend, right?”

 

“Absolutely.” Draco seemed happy to confirm. “Don’t look so distraught,” he said, reaching around Harry to pat Oliver’s arm. “You’ve made up for it by being an excellent friend.”

 

“Not so sure an excellent friend would leave you to be subjected to Harry’s amorous advances time and again,” Oliver admitted.

 

“Hey!” was Harry’s indignant response.

 

“It provides a diversion,” Draco said, waving away Oliver’s concern and totally ignoring Harry’s outrage. “Although – I am a bit concerned about him.” Harry’s expression brightened a bit, only to fall again when Draco added, “Seems to spend a lot of time in his cups.”

 

Oliver grinned. “Not to worry,” he said, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “He really doesn’t drink that much. Bit of a light-weight, our Harry.”

 

“I can hear you!” Harry shrugged off Oliver’s arm and turned a bleary glare upon him. “Y’ don’t seem like such an escallent friend to me, Olverer.”

 

“Of course I am, Harry,” Oliver insisted with a grin. “Don’t I invite Draco out every few games or so – giving you the opportunity to try to woo him?”

 

“Oh, that’s the game, is it?” Draco asked, mostly hiding his amusement behind a stern glare. “Thanks a lot. And here I thought you actually wanted to keep in touch.”

 

Harry caught the wink Oliver gave Draco. He didn’t really understand these two. Everyone knew they’d dated for a while, but remained good friends after an amicable break up. He didn’t really believe Oliver’s bit about inviting Draco out to give Harry a chance to try it on with him. Because if that was the case, Oliver wouldn’t be trying to cock-block him now, would he?

 

“Well,” Harry said, as firmly as he could manage, “y’ can move along now, Olverrr. Lemme get back to the wooing.” He gave Oliver a friendly little nudge to get him moving.

 

“Never mind, Potter,” Draco said, stepping down from the bar stool and making obvious ‘getting ready to leave’ motions. “I’ve had all the wooing I can handle for one evening, and I’ve got an early appointment tomorrow out on Rathlin Island.” He patted Harry on the arm. “Better luck next time. Guess you’ll just have to do whatever you normally do when I’m not here.”

 

Over Harry’s sputtered protests, Oliver said, “Oh, normally he never wants for company. Most witches and wizards are not as immune to Harry’s charms as you seem to be, Draco.”

 

That bastard _was_ trying to cock-block him! And he just grinned bigger when Harry tried to shush him. Could the idiot not see the good humor leaching from Draco’s face?

 

“Well perhaps that’s because I have no interest in being one of Harry Potter’s _many_ drunken hook-ups.” Draco’s tone was deceptively light, but Harry wasn’t fooled.

 

“Ah, is that the attraction, Harry?” Oliver asked, still vastly amused at Harry’s expense and, apparently, totally oblivious to Draco’s lack of amusement. “Determined to wear down Draco’s resistance? Conquer the unconquerable?”

 

“No! Tha’s not it!” Harry wanted to punch him, but wasn’t sure which of the two Olivers standing there to take a swing at. Well, fifty/fifty odds, he supposed.

 

“Oh really,” Draco said, drawing Harry’s attention back. “So what is the attraction then, Potter?”

 

Why couldn’t someone have asked this question earlier, when Harry was masterfully throwing around multi-syllabic words? Now he could only manage to open and close his mouth, looking desperately between Draco and the Olivers. Finally, epically frustrated, Harry simply gestured at Draco in an effort to convey his appreciation of Draco’s head to toe awesomeness and uttered, “Uh, hel- _lo!_ ”

 

Draco’s frigid glare and Oliver’s hoot of laughter indicated that Harry had failed utterly to convey that his interest in Draco went beyond just a superficial one-off. That maybe Draco could be _THE_ one-off. The ultimate one-off. The… lots of… offs. Forever.

 

Suddenly the fatigue from the hard-fought victory over the Bats earlier in the day, all the beer he’d imbibed that evening, and the disappointment of another failure with Draco hit Harry. Hard. He slumped off of his bar stool and stumbled away from Draco and Oliver. “Goin’ to bed now,” he mumbled pitifully.

 

Behind him, Harry heard Oliver say, “I better see that he gets back to the hotel. He’s likely forgotten we’re in Ireland.” Harry couldn’t hear Draco’s reply, but heard Oliver’s response to it. “No, I’ve got this. Talk to you soon, yeah?”

 

Then Oliver slung his arm around Harry’s shoulders and guided him around tables, chairs, and carousing patrons toward the exit. He let Oliver call their goodnights in answer to the farewells of their teammates. And he didn’t once look back to see if Draco had already Apparated away or had decided to accept one of the many drink offers he’d turned down earlier.

 

If he had looked back, Harry would have seen that Draco simply stood where they had left him. His expression was no longer cold or angry, but every bit as sad and wistful as Harry’s.

 

_April 2007_

 

“You’re scowling,” Andromeda said, offering a piece of cake.

 

Draco turned his scowl upon the cake, but accepted it readily. “It’s a thing I do. Ask anyone here,” he said, gesturing with his cake to indicate the Gryffindor-intensive crowd in attendance at Teddy’s birthday party. “They’ll confirm it.”

 

Andromeda took a seat beside him. With the gifts opened and cake served, the children were taking advantage of the sunny day to chase each other about the garden. Warming charms had been cast about the several tables set up around the area to drive off the lingering coolness of early spring and keep the adults at the party comfortable as they watched.

 

“I do recall that it was something you used to do quite frequently. I thought you’d fallen out of the habit. Although, I suppose since you spend so much of your time in a worldwide pursuit of magical artifacts, you could be scowling away and I’d never know.” Andromeda leaned in a bit, looking speculative. “You’re not, are you?”

 

He spared her a small smile. “Only if the person I’m dealing with needs to be scowled at. Not generally the way I approach most deals, however.”

 

“So who is in need of your scowling here?”

 

Her tone was knowing. It was always knowing. Draco loved his aunt, but it hardly seemed fair that someone who had really only known him for a handful of years could read him every bit as well as his own mother. Of course, he suspected they compared notes frequently, so he supposed he should hardly be surprised.

 

Draco avoided the question by taking a bite of cake and turning his gaze decidedly away from where Harry, with a couple of his Weasley minions, was running about with the children. He allowed the delicious chocolate to chase away the scowl – at least a bit. After a few moments he said, “I guess I should be used to them by now. And I suppose Teddy is destined to be sorted into Gryffindor.”

 

“Well, now he might go Hufflepuff,” Andromeda said, smirking heartlessly when Draco looked aghast at the thought. “He could. His mother and grandfather were Hufflepuffs, after all.”

 

“I only hope you’re using every opportunity to temper that possible inclination with your Slytherin influence, Aunt Andromeda,” Draco said. His gaze drifted back to the children in time to watch Harry hoist the newly-turned nine-year-old up onto his broom and take off into the sky above. Draco sighed. “Although, I suppose with Harry Potter as his godfather, there’s little else that can make much of an impression.”

 

Andromeda reached over to grasp Draco’s hand in a quick squeeze, but didn’t maintain the contact. “Teddy loved the book you gave him on Metamorphmagi. It’s lovely, by the way. Where did you find it?”

 

“In this little shop in Lucerne,” Draco said. “I’ve cast a preservation charm on it, but it’s still fragile. The shop owner wasn’t quite certain how old it was.” He could no longer see Harry and Teddy. No doubt they were over the rooftops of nearby Hogsmeade by now. He returned his attention to Andromeda. “I had thought I’d have to put a full translation spell on it as well, but it seems Teddy’s really coming along with his Latin. I’m assuming that’s your influence rather than Potter’s.”

 

Andromeda allowed a bit of exasperation to show. “What has gotten into you? I thought you and Harry had laid that old animosity to rest. I know he was quite looking forward to seeing you here today, especially since you’ve apparently stopped going to Puddlemere’s games.”

 

“I’ve been busy,” Draco said irritably. “It’s not that I don’t want to attend.” And that was true. Draco always enjoyed watching the professional matches – or had before he started dating Oliver. That was when he realized just how brutal those games could be – far beyond anything he’d ever experienced when he played at Hogwarts. Even though they were no longer together, it was still difficult to watch Oliver and the other friends he’d made on the team face such hazard for sport. But that really had very little to do with why he had eschewed the majority of the matches this season. That was all to do with trying to avoid Harry Potter. Thinking of it brought the scowl back to his face – just as Harry and Teddy came flying in for a perfect landing.

 

Draco had known that he was likely to see Potter here today. If it had been any other occasion, he probably would have bowed out. But he couldn’t miss Teddy’s birthday party, so he had determined to avoid Potter as much as possible. It could only be terribly awkward between them, given Potter’s drunken pursuit of Draco over the course of their last few meetings. Draco had convinced himself that he was nothing so much as offended that Potter apparently considered him just another potential conquest. Especially since Harry had never attempted to contact Draco in his sober moments – assuming he had them – to argue otherwise. In weaker moments, he had come very close to admitting he was afraid that, when sober, Harry might verify that he had no real interest in Draco and had just behaved foolishly due to drink. Or, perhaps even worse, he would show no memory of the incidents and would continue to treat Draco with nothing more than the casual friendliness he showed to all those who were merely acquaintances.

 

As if sensing that he was the subject of Draco’s thoughts at the moment, Potter turned toward them and waved enthusiastically. Draco only deepened his scowl. In response, Potter tossed his broom to Ron and stalked off.

 

“Honestly,” Andromeda said, standing now. “The way the two of you dance around each other.”

 

Draco scoffed. Again. “Hardly dancing. It’s more like circling for a fight.”

 

Andromeda just laughed and laid a hand lightly on Draco’s shoulder. “No,” she said. “It’s not like that at all. Not a bit.” And then she left him to make the rounds to the other guests.

 

Draco huffed in irritation. He’d never thought of his aunt as a meddler, but she was certainly showing signs of becoming one. Feeling exceedingly disgruntled and a bit betrayed, Draco gathered up his empty plate and made his way into the house. There was more cake inside, and cake had never betrayed him. Especially the chocolate kind.

 

Since there was plenty of cake left, he treated himself to a rather large piece and stood by the table as he devoured the first few bites. Probably because he’d only just had a first piece, the second seemed extra sweet – gloriously so, but still. Tea was in order and, combined with the chocolate cake, sounded extremely comforting. Looking about the kitchen, he found a pot of tea under a warming charm. Perhaps Andromeda wasn’t all bad.

 

Several lovely moments were spent consuming the cake and tea. Draco had just placed his empty plate and cup on the counter by the sink when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and quiet conversation. And, of course, one of the voices was Potter’s.

 

He knew he couldn’t exit the kitchen without the risk of running straight into the person he’d been trying all day to avoid. Doubting that fortune would favor him, and Potter would just walk on by the room, Draco cast a quick Notice Me Not charm on himself. Just to be completely safe, however, he decided to hide in the pantry, leaving the door minutely ajar to hear if the intruders entered the kitchen or simply passed by. His decision was fortuitous because the voices became much louder, indicating that Harry and his companion (Ron, as it turned out) had entered the room.

 

“Face it, mate,” Ron was saying. “He must have gone already. Although I’ll admit it’s a bit surprising that he’d leave without saying goodbye to Teddy or Andromeda.”

 

The answering silence was exasperating. Draco cast a quiet charm on the pantry door to make a small sort of window for one-way viewing of the scene on the other side. He almost immediately began to rethink the move, though not due to fear of discovery.

 

Harry stood against the kitchen counter. With his arms folded against his chest, the upper body fitness he’d developed during his time as a professional athlete was deliciously evident. The trousers he wore, Muggle jeans of course, clung to his thighs in a way that made Draco want to crawl out of the pantry and worship them on his knees. But it was Harry’s determined expression that made every bit of moisture evaporate from Draco’s mouth. Drunk-Harry was amusing and perhaps even a bit endearing – but definitely resistible. Sober, earnest-Harry made Draco long for things he knew he could never have.

 

“If I’m an idiot – and I am,” Harry confirmed before Ron could say whatever had been about to come out of his mouth. “I know I am, alright? But Draco is an arse. Can’t even face me – when I’m the one who’s made a complete fool of myself? I only wanted to apologize.”

 

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing he left. Seems as if you’ve worked yourself up from being willing to beg for his forgiveness to being ready to beat him over the head and demand it.” Ron had helped himself to a slice of cake and sat down at the table to enjoy it.

 

Harry ran his hands through his hair in apparent frustration. “I can’t help it. He infuriates me!”

 

“That’s hardly news,” Ron said around a bite of cake.

 

“I just wanted to ask him out,” Harry said.

 

“So why haven’t you just owled him? Ron asked.

 

“Doesn’t seem right,” Harry said. “I’ve been hoping to see him again face to face – and I’ve even moderated my after-match consumption to make sure I was sober the next time he came to a match. Problem is, he hasn’t attended any since we played the Bats back in December.”

 

“You must have been extra idiotic that last time, then.”

 

Harry heaved a huge sigh. “I suppose. Can’t remember precisely. Although Oliver has assured me that I didn’t say or do anything too offensive.”

 

“Yeah, well Oliver also never gave you a heads-up on when he’d invited Malfoy to come out with the team, so I’m not sure he’s the most reliable source,” Ron said. “Seems like maybe he enjoyed seeing you making a fool of yourself in front of Malfoy. Maybe he’s not as settled with their break-up as he claims.”

 

Harry appeared to be giving the idea serious consideration. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “That would mean that Oliver would have given more than a few minutes’ thought to something other than Quidditch. I really don’t think he’s capable of it.” Harry came over to the table and set about cutting a slice of cake, seemingly still in thought about the topic of discussion. He sighed again. “Maybe it’s for the best. Obviously, Draco and I still bring out the worst in each other. It would probably never work out anyway.”

 

Ron just shrugged, then looked questioningly when Harry handed him the slice of cake.

 

“For your wife,” Harry explained.

 

“Oh yeah,” Ron said, rising from his seat. “Good call. The more pregnant she gets, the more irritable she becomes. Chocolate might just make her forgive me for abandoning her to go off and help you chase after Malfoy.”

 

“If Remus was here, he’d tell you that chocolate is exactly the thing for that,” Harry said as he followed Ron out of the room.

 

Draco remained in the pantry while he waited for the sound of their footsteps and voices to fade completely. He felt suddenly exhausted and allowed himself to sink to the floor as he replayed in his mind the conversation he’d just overheard.

 

So… perhaps Harry did have some genuine interest in him, but evidently not strong enough to pursue it. Harry Potter never gave up on things he was _truly_ determined to have. Everyone knew that. Obviously, Harry really believed that they could never work out. That they brought out the worst in each other. Draco braced himself against the crushing feeling of disappointment. He could not allow that to take hold.

 

Perhaps he was the one in need of more chocolate cake. Though he somehow doubted there was enough chocolate to abate the loneliness he was now feeling. He had a sudden desire to see Oliver, to seek out friendship and affection. This despite the fact that he happened to agree with Ron that Oliver might have engineered meetings which would show Harry in a less than favorable light. Draco now recalled Oliver’s joking comments that he’d never be able to hold Draco’s interest the way Harry seemed to do. It was possible Oliver’s competitive nature had led him to try to take someone he thought of as a rival down a notch or two. Although… Draco thought it just as likely that it might have been sub-consciously done on Oliver’s part. Harry was right about Oliver’s one track brain. Nothing much besides Quidditch ever lingered long in Oliver’s mind.

 

Probably best to just go home and pack. He had a line on a charmed candelabra in Seville and had put off pursing it for long enough. It sounded extremely intriguing, and even if it turned out that it wasn’t something he’d want to add to the Malfoy personal collection he could always find someone who was interested in acquiring it. Hannah Longbottom’s remodeling efforts of the Hog’s Head Inn were largely completed, but she was always looking for interesting items to add to one of the rooms or to have on display in the pub itself.

 

But first, he really did need to say his goodbyes to Teddy and Andromeda. And his mother, as well. He wouldn’t allow Potter’s annoying presence to make him forgo his manners. And he decided he might as well resign himself to the fact that he couldn’t avoid Potter forever; he’d better start now learning to hide his broken heart.

 

_July 30, 2007, 9:37 pm_

“Hannah, I need one of those drinks you make in the little cauldron-shaped tumbler. The one with all the multi-colored smoke,” Harry said with some urgency.

 

“It’s your birthday celebration, Harry,” Hannah Abbot-Longbottom said as she pulled the tap, topping off a beer. “You’re not supposed to be getting your own drinks.”

 

“Well, It’s not for me,” Harry said, grinning devilishly. “You see that bloke over at the table with Dennis and that Greengrass girl? What’s her name – Astrid or something?”

 

Hannah looked across the pub at the fit blond that Harry had indicated. “Declan McLaggan? Oh, he’s darling!”

 

“Who’s darling? You’d better be talking about me,” Neville said as he stepped up behind his wife and gave her a quick kiss on top of her head. Hannah leaned back with a smile, obviously requesting a proper kiss – which she quickly received.

 

“You’re a darling, too,” Hannah said. “Especially when you help me out on busy nights like this.”

 

Neville grinned. “Gives me an excuse to spend more time with you when school’s not in session,” he teased. “And the tips are good. Anyway, Dean’s table needs another round.”

 

“Will you get that?” Hannah asked. “I’ve got to prepare something special for Harry.”

 

“Well… since it’s his birthday and all.” Neville rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Just don’t you and George come in next week expecting all this special treatment, Harry. During the offseason, you’re just a clerk in the joke shop instead of a famous, overpaid Quidditch star.”

 

Harry laughed and gave a shrug. “Keeps me out of trouble when there’s no Quidditch, Nev. For the most part, anyway,” he said. “But tonight I’m kind of working the whole ‘professional athlete fame and glamour’ thing. Evidently, Declan’s impressed.”

 

“Here you go then,” said Hannah, setting the steaming drink on the bar. “One Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love. And,” she added, grabbing one of the beers off the tray Neville was filling, “something for yourself as well.” Before Harry could verbalize a protest, Hannah added, “I know, I know: you’d rather just nurse a couple of drinks all night. But, Harry, if you don’t have a drink for yourself it will look like you’re just trying to get the man drunk to take advantage of him.”

 

“I would never,” Harry said, accepting the beer without protest. Then grinned cheekily and added, “But I’m totally planning to press the birthday boy advantage.”

 

Harry swung away from the bar and made his way through the pub. The room was warm and bright and filled with friends, and friends of friends, all there to help Harry celebrate his birthday. He was hailed by people at every turn as he made his way to the table where the hottest guy Harry had seen in a while sat with Dennis Creevey and his girlfriend Ashley – or Aster… damn, what was the girl’s name? He passed near Ron and Hermione who sat with George and Angelina. Ron gave him a thumbs-up and Hermione just shook her head, but was smiling nonetheless.  Harry winked, smiled warmly at them, and mouthed ‘thank you!’.

 

Every year since the end of the war, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had celebrated their birthdays together. Aside from the customary family celebration at the Burrow, the three of them had gathered on the evening before the actual day and made merry into the night. Harry had confided to his two best friends his own childhood tradition of staying up until midnight on the night before his birthday so that he could wish himself happiness on the day and spend some time imagining a family celebration with his parents. Then morning would arrive and he would endure another day of drudgery, just like the days before and those that would come after. It had nearly reduced Hermione to tears when she had realized that, until he had gone to Hogwarts, no one else had ever acknowledged Harry’s birthday.

 

So, they had pledged to commemorate their birthdays in the same way each year. Often it was just the three of them, but over the years there had been the occasional larger gathering of friends. Nothing, though, on the scale of the celebrations for this year. The twenty-seventh birthday was one of the milestones in the wizarding world. It marked the tenth year after both reaching maturity and the end of the Ministry trace. As Ron had said, it was a year of possibility.

 

And Harry had latched onto that thought. It was as if, as the days passed and his birthday approached, he could feel something building. And he had allowed himself to ponder possibilities. A different career, perhaps? No doubt people would think he was mad for considering it. He was still so young, by wizarding standards. Some of his teammates were decades older than Harry, and still had years left to play Quidditch professionally. And it wasn’t that he was completely certain he was ready to retire for the sport. But it had begun to seem, lately, as if there was just something more out there for him. He wasn’t sure what. A relationship, perhaps? Finally? For so long, those thoughts had been inextricably tied to a certain blond Slytherin. Harry knew it was nonsensical, this attraction to Draco Malfoy. The fact that he’d barely seen the man in months did not seem to matter. Thoughts of Draco seemed to be forever dancing around the edge of Harry’s consciousness. He’d embraced it for a while. Actually tried to pursue the git. Sort of. But that had gone nowhere, and Harry had decided to take Hermione’s advice and at least try to identify other people he could see himself dating.

 

People like Declan McLaggan, who sat watching as Harry returned with the drink he’d promised.  Declan had an adorable little smirk that Harry had been instantly drawn to. It spoke only of amusement, not the hint of condescension that continued to color Draco’s smirk. Not that Harry was making that comparison. Why would he? True, Declan was blond, but it was more of a honey blond, instead of the Malfoy white blond. And his eyes were blue, and they twinkled with warmth. Harry had always kind of hoped to have the chance to see what it would take to make Draco’s grey eyes sparkle like that.

 

But he wasn’t going to think about Draco tonight. No! Not when he had his birthday to celebrate with all his friends. And a very sexy new friend. Harry really needed to thank Dennis’ girlfriend for bringing Declan along. If only he could remember her name!

 

Harry reached the table, taking a seat as he slid the drink over to Declan. “One of Hannah’s specials,” he explained.

 

“Looks intriguing,” Declan said, his smirk transitioning to a smile. “Thank you.”

 

“Just to be clear, Declan,” Dennis said, “Harry’s acting as an independent agent here. I did not ask him to be extra nice to you to help influence your decision.”

 

  
“What decision?” Harry asked, though he was less interested in the answer than in the way Declan’s lips looked pressed against the glass as he took his first sip.

 

“We’re trying to convince Declan to accept a position with Dennis at _The Quibbler_.” Dennis’ girlfriend tucked herself in closer to him as she answered Harry’s question. “With Luna always off looking for those rare magical creatures, the burden of getting the magazine out falls largely on Dennis. I never get enough time with him.”

 

“Astoria,” Dennis began, but merely blushed a bit and kissed her cheek rather than saying anything more.

 

Ah! So the girlfriend’s name was Astoria. Harry filed that away, but kept his focus on Declan. “So you’re a reporter?” Harry asked. He hoped not.

 

“I am,” Declan said. “In Sydney, I was covering mainly government activity. Wouldn’t mind doing that here, but might be better going with the _Prophet_ for that kind of reporting. Don’t you think?”

 

“He’s applied for a position there,” Dennis said, grimacing.

 

Declan evidently noticed the look of distaste on Harry’s face. “Well, it’s more about being in London, you know? I prefer living in a large city. I mean, I’m happy to be back in England, and Hogsmeade is charming and all…”

 

“Hogsmeade is _the_ place to be,” Astoria informed him. “It’s not the same place it was when we were at Hogwarts.”

 

At Declan’s skeptical look, Harry jumped in. “Astoria’s right,” he said. “The town needed a lot of repair after the war. A lot of people around our age took the opportunity to become involved in existing businesses here, or start new ones.”

 

“Kind of turned into a revitalization of the town,” Dennis added. “What Hannah’s done with the Hog’s Head is an example. Dean Thomas recently moved his studio here and opened a gallery.”

 

“Theo Nott’s legal practice is here. And there’s both a St. Mungo’s clinic and an office for Gringotts’ curse-breaking division,” Astoria said.

 

“And of course we’ve got Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” Dennis put in.

 

“But I saw that in Diagon Alley just yesterday,” Declan said.

 

“Well, the original shop is still there,” Harry said. “Ron runs that one. It’s better for him to be in London since Hermione’s at the Ministry. George has the shop here in Hogsmeade, which also houses the Research and Development Department. And the assembly facility.”

 

“Yes, that in particular brought in a lot of jobs, and people moving here wanted something more from the town than what it had to offer before,” Astoria said. “And it’s still growing. I’ve been trying to convince Draco to open a shop for all the items he collects in his travels. The ones he doesn’t keep at the Manor, anyway.”

 

“Aren’t you concerned about over-development?” Declan asked. 

 

“Wait!” Dennis said loudly, holding up his hand. “Much as I want to try to convince you to join us here, you can’t ask a question like that of the Chairperson of the Committee for Civic Pride and Growth,” he indicated Astoria, “without spending the rest of the evening listening to discussion of community-led plans and village revival scenarios. I doubt that’s what Harry had in mind for his birthday celebration.”

 

“Hmmm?” Harry snapped his attention back to the conversation at hand. Truth was, at Astoria’s mention of Draco, Harry had been in a bit of a daydream about how _he_ might have helped Harry celebrate his birthday.

 

Astoria laughed. “Point taken, Harry. I’ll save the sales pitch for another day. Perhaps you might even help me show Declan around, since you spend so much time in Hogsmeade.”

 

“Oh? Do you live here, too?” Declan asked.

 

“Yes,” Harry said. “And during the offseason, I help George out. It’s fun and gives me something to do.”

 

Declan’s smirk was back out, and Harry thought it had a bit of a predatory cast to it this time. “Really? I would have thought that a professional Quidditch player like yourself could afford to seek his fun in places more exciting than Hogsmeade.”

 

Harry was a bit put off by Declan’s comment, but he decided to ignore it in favor of focusing on physical attraction. It’s not like he was looking for a lifetime commitment from the man. Harry was just hoping to get lucky. So he leaned in a bit and said, “I like to think I can make things fun and exciting wherever I am.”

 

“Well, I’m definitely having fun,” Declan said. He surreptitiously placed a hand on Harry’s thigh under the table and moved closer to whisper, “If you can promise me some excitement later, I’ll be happy to stick around.”

 

In answer, Harry brought out a smirk of his own.

 

_Still July 30 th, just before midnight…_

Harry threw himself onto a chair beside Hermione. He could feel the flush on his face, evidence that he’d imbibed a bit more than his recent habit of moderation allowed. He’d been having a great deal of fun, and it was his birthday, after all. And now it was almost twelve o’clock. Harry wanted to be sure he maintained the tradition of being with his two best friends at the stroke of midnight, when it was officially July thirty-first. He stretched his arm around Hermione’s back to high-five Ron, then dropped it around her shoulders.

 

“Looks like you’ve been having a very good time,” Hermione said. She dropped her head on Harry’s shoulder, a clear sign that she had probably had more than a bit to drink. This was really Hermione's first outing since the birth of baby Rose. It was possible that she was feeling the effects more significantly than she normally would have, since her already miniscule tolerance for alcohol was compounded by the fact that she had imbibed no spirits during her pregnancy or while nursing. Harry, finding her sleepy smile adorable, bussed a quick kiss on the top of her head.

 

“Well, it’s nice to make new friends,” Harry said, grinning. “Isn’t that what you’re always trying to tell me?”

 

“She just wants to know if he’s anything like his cousin Cormac,” Ron said.

 

“If he was, I wouldn’t have spent most of the evening with him,” Harry assured her.

 

“Where is he now?” Ron asked.

 

“He said something about birthday shots,” Harry said. “Oh, here he comes.”

 

Declan was making his way to their table with four shot glasses in his hands. The liquid inside appeared to be clear, but when he placed them on the table, Harry could see there was a perfectly round drop of red liquid floating within.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked, removing his arm from Hermione’s shoulders and scooting closer to Declan.

 

“It’s called a Phoenix Egg,” Declan said. “Tastes divine, but packs a bit of a kick.”

 

“The Phoenix doesn’t lay eggs,” Hermione mumbled, blinking tired eyes just as Ron stood, holding his glass aloft.

 

“Can I get the time, love?” Ron asked. Hermione obliged, and with a flick of her wand, large bright numbers appeared above their heads drawing the attention of everyone in the pub. “Alright,” Ron’s voice boomed. “Eleven fifty-eight. Just about right, then. You all know why we’re here. Everyone raise your glasses high.”

 

“Eleven fifty-nine!” A few voices called out, as everyone scrambled to grab their drinks.

 

“At midnight, our old friend Harry turns twenty-seven.” Ron paused as several in the crowd cheered. “That’s right. The twenty-seventh year. Some would argue it’s the most important year in a young wizard’s life. The year that historically – ” At this point, seemingly everyone in the room was yelling ‘stop!’ or ‘no’ until Ron waved his hand in acquiescence. “Alright, alright!” he said good-naturedly. Then, tipping his glass toward Harry, Ron said, “Many more years to come, mate. Happy ones.”

 

Harry grinned at a Ron, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Just then the countdown of the last five seconds began. Declan moved closer to Harry, glass poised to drink at the stroke of midnight, and winked at him.

 

“Happy Birthday, Harry!!” The cry went up throughout the pub at the end of the countdown, and then there was drinking and cheering and the celebration continued.

 

Harry had downed his shot. It was, as Declan had promised, really good. And right away he thought he could feel the effects of the potent libation. Hermione hugged him and Ron clapped him on the back. And then Declan was there, so close and pulling him closer. Harry could practically feel Declan’s lips against his as he whispered, “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

 

The actual kiss was delayed though, because Harry could not stop grinning stupidly in order to fit their lips together. His head was spinning, and he felt giddy. And then it was as if the ground was suddenly gone beneath him. If he had been standing, Harry would have fallen to the floor. He clutched at Declan – the most solid thing in range – as the spinning feeling now seemed to, somehow, encompass his entire body. He could hear Hermione and Ron calling to him, could sense that they’d moved closer to him, but he could not respond.

 

The spinning feeling centralized again, this time in his chest instead of his head. Harry felt as if there was some crazy, miniature carnival ride whirling around his heart. It wasn’t painful, but it was extremely disconcerting. With his head now clear, he could see Ron and Hermione knelt beside him, matching expressions of alarm on their faces. He wanted to tell them to not to worry, but could only clutch at his chest, unable to push the words out of his mouth.

 

Then, as if flung off the spinning ride, the sensation shot from his chest over to his left arm. Reflexively, the arm extended. Harry couldn’t see anything happening to the limb, but could feel the wild energy twisting around it from shoulder to fingertips. The feeling was more external now than it had been, though he could still feel the movement of it just under his skin. Harry hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, but with the spinning energy now moved away from his chest, he gulped for air.

 

Harry knew he had not lost consciousness, but it was as if awareness of his surroundings rushed back to him. He could hear the clamor of concerned voices and sensed that everyone in the pub was focused on him. Declan was standing a few feet away. Harry didn’t know when he had moved, but was relieved that it was now Ron and Hermione who were physically closest to him.

 

He heard Hermione’s gasp and looked at her. She was staring at his arm. “What is that?” she whispered. Ron didn’t answer her. His attention was also on Harry’s arm, so Harry turned to look at it as well.

 

It was glowing. Actually, it was the energy, or whatever it was, that was twisting around his arm that was glowing. It shone golden, at first, then silver-white. Then the energy seemed to separate into several strands, each strand taking on a different color: hues of blue, purple, and green. Harry felt the strands of color twist upwards, weaving together in a band around his bicep. He’d worn a simple black t-shirt that evening, and now easily slipped the sleeve of it up to watch the colors twist and flow into a woven pattern. The band seemed to constrict around his arm, tight for a few moments and just on the edge of uncomfortable. Then all sensation of movement stopped. The woven band remained.  

 

Such a strange occurrence might have made another man bellow in panic or start flipping tables. It’s not that Harry wasn’t concerned. But the sad truth was that Harry Potter had seen more than his fair share of weird shit in his lifetime. In the grand scheme of things, a strange mark suddenly appearing on his arm did not call for an immediate meltdown.

 

The room had gone dead silent, everyone simply staring at Harry. Harry hated being stared at. Hated being the one that crazy shit seemed to happen to – which resulted in people staring at him. Ron stretched a hand out toward Harry’s arm, distracting him from the discomfort of being the center of unwanted attention. He stopped before actually touching Harry. The alarm Ron had exhibited earlier, Harry noted, now seemed to be replaced by sense of awe. He was looking at Harry’s arm in… amazement. Harry had no idea what was going on, but Ron’s demeanor helped to calm his own anxiety.

 

“So… is this someone’s idea of a birthday present for me?” Harry asked, smiling weakly. “A… tattoo?”

 

“Yeah,” said George, who had approached despite everyone else keeping their distance. He took a chair across from Harry, holding his gaze. His tone wasn’t jovial when he spoke, but it wasn’t completely somber either. “You can thank Fate for this gift.”

 

Harry could only stare at George. Finally he said, “Fate? No, see… there must be a mistake. Fate and I broke up. Turns out she just wanted to use me.”

 

George smiled wryly and chuckled. “Looks like she’s going to make all that up to you, Harry.”

 

Now that the silence had been broken, Harry could hear the voices of the others in the pub, though still they maintained their distance. Some were whispering, some speaking in tones loud enough for him to catch snippets of what was said. He was certain he heard the word ‘bond’ repeated all around the room.

 

Glancing up, Harry caught Declan staring at him. His expression seemed to be a mixture of surprise and… speculation? When he caught Harry looking at him, he shrugged and gave a small, rueful smile. Then he waved farewell and went back to find Dennis and Astoria.

 

Fuck Fate. Seriously.

 

Harry sighed and plunked his head down on the table. He still had no idea what had just happened to him, but he was certain of one thing. “Hermione? I’m not sober enough for this.”

 

_July 31 st, 1:26 am_

“A bondmark,” Harry muttered for about the twentieth time.

 

The Hog’s Head was quiet now. The party had begun to break up not long after the strange mark had appeared on Harry’s arm. Well, first there had been a bit of an uproar as everyone realized what had happened. Just like Ron, the other purebloods in the group had immediately recognized the mark on Harry’s arm. Though surprised to have witnessed it, no one had seemed particularly concerned about it. Lavender and Parvati were practically giddy, talking about bondlines and destined mates. Harry tuned them out rather quickly. George’s suggestion that this was call for further celebration had been initially cheered, but that didn’t go anywhere, and the party ended on a rather subdued note.

 

“Yep,” George said. “Our little Harry, all grown up. Practically married.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said. “I get that this is not some symbol of the end of the world or some totally fucking insane dark wizard out to kill me, or whatever. But do you think you could dial back on the obvious delight you are taking in this situation?”

 

“Not yet,” said George, grinning wickedly. “Maybe in a week or two. OW!!” He turned to pout at his wife and rubbed at his arm where she’d pinched him.

 

“You’re not helping,” Angelina said. “How would you feel if you were in Harry’s place?”

 

“Very foolish, considering I’m already married,” George said. “But then again, I didn’t need a bondmark to help me find my perfect mate.” He winked outrageously at her, earning a smile and a roll of her eyes.

 

“What, so this is like help for those too dumb to be able to find the person they were meant to be with?” Harry asked, obviously a bit irritated at the thought. After a few moments’ consideration, he deflated. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

 

Hermione had been fairly quiet for a while, disconcerted as always when there was something she didn’t know. “Alright, so this… bond that Harry’s got himself into… he’s just supposed to be with the person who has the matching mark? He has no choice in the matter?”

 

“Why would he choose anyone else? The person with the matching mark is the person he’s meant to be with. The person who is perfect for him.” Ron explained.

 

“Think of it as his soul mate, Hermione,” Angelina offered. “The person who is already a part of him. It’s perfectly natural.”

 

“But evidently not common,” Hermione said. “If it was perfectly natural, wouldn’t it be something that happens all the time?”

 

“It does happen all the time,” Ron said. “Just, I guess, not to anyone else you know.” Before Hermione could say anything more, he added, “It’s okay that you didn’t know about it, love.”

 

Hermione huffed in frustration, unable to just easily accept this. “Well, how is he supposed to find this person?”

 

George shrugged. “That’s different for everybody, from what I recall. But surely Fate lends a hand with that, as well.”

 

Harry was feeling inclined to announce very loudly that Fate could kiss his arse, but he refrained. For the most part, everyone seemed to view this as something positive. Harry wasn’t certain, and he could tell by the look on Hermione’s face that she was less than reassured by what she had learned so far.

 

Neville and Hannah had been cleaning up since the last of the revelers departed. Now they joined Harry and the others at their table. “My parents were bondmates,” Hannah said. “Though they were already together before the mark manifested.”

 

“But isn’t the point of the mark to help them find each other?” Hermione asked. “If they were already together, why did they need the mark?”

 

“There are other reasons for the mark, but it _can_ be used to help the bondmates find each other,” Neville said. “If necessary. Chances are, the mates already know each other and have noticed a connection.”

 

“Isn’t it true that Harry’s bondmate should be, at the very least, someone he’s already met?” Angelina asked, trying to make sure she was remembering the details of such bonds correctly.

 

“Yes,” said Hannah. “But not necessarily someone he knows well. They might have met only once.”

 

“Alright,” Hermione said, “So it’s someone he knows. What else?”

 

“Has to be someone who has already turned twenty-seven,” Ron said. “The mark only shows up after both of the mates have reached the twenty-seventh year.”

 

“Does that mean it could be someone who turned twenty-seven years ago?” Hermione asked.

 

“Yes,” said Hannah. “There are stories of people who have had to wait for years before their bondmate is old enough for the mark to appear. Of course, they didn’t know they had been waiting until the bond showed.”

 

“But what happens if they’ve met someone else in the mean time? What if they’ve already married someone else?” Hermione was by far the person most agitated by this situation. Unknowns tended to drive her a bit mad.

 

“I think there is some record of that happening,” Hannah said. “But mainly from the time when marriages were arranged. Since most people have the freedom to choose their spouses these days, it’s not such a problem.”

 

“And bondmates tend to have difficulty forming lasting attachments to anyone other than the person Fate intended,” Angelina said.

 

“Well,” Harry said, “Guess that explains why I could never work anything out with Dr – anyone.” He blushed over his near slip-up and was silently grateful to all his friends for pretending not to notice. Harry straightened and slipped his hand up under his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. “I think I’m done talking about this for tonight,” he said. “I just want to go home and go to bed.” He looked down at the mark encircling his arm and brushed over it lightly with the fingers of his right hand. “I guess this thing will still be there when I wake up.”

 

“It will be,” George said. “But that’s really not a bad thing, Harry.”

 

Harry shrugged but didn’t respond right away. Looking around at his friends, it was clear from their confident smiles they all agreed with George’s assertion. Well, Hermione didn’t look quite as certain about it, though she was no longer frowning as she had earlier. It was obvious to Harry that she still has some reservations about the situation. Somehow, that made him feel… more grounded: less like his life was spinning out of control. He reached over and clasped her hand.

 

“I guess I just need some time to think about it,” Harry told them. “But not right now.” He stood up, drawing Hermione up with him and giving her a quick hug. “I need some sleep. And tomorrow we’ll continue this celebration at The Burrow and eat lots of cake. And maybe things will seem more normal.”

 

It didn’t happen quite that way.

 

_July 31 st, 3:27 pm_

 

Draco dropped his valise just inside the door of his hotel suite. Without breaking stride, he walked through the sitting room, straight into the bedroom. He didn’t stop until he reached the bed and collapsed face down upon it. It was barely the middle of the afternoon, but he was exhausted. Lack of sleep from the previous night was taking its toll. He just wanted to be unconscious. Perhaps then the unwanted thoughts he’d spent the day trying to ignore would be unable to plague him for at least a few hours.

 

No doubt because he so desperately wanted it, sleep did not come. He wasn’t sure exactly how much time he’d spent trying to make himself sleep before he finally gave up and rolled over on his back. He stared up at the blank, white surface of the ceiling, willing his mind to reflect its emptiness. Did he need to protect his thoughts this way? It was something he needed to find out soon. He’d tried to keep his thoughts superficial and his emotions muted throughout the day, and it had further exhausted him.

 

Draco rubbed at his face and tired eyes. He felt relatively secure now, tucked away in a Muggle hotel in Yalta. He knew no one here, and the note he’d left for his parents hadn’t been specific about what part of Ukraine he was planning to visit. He decided on a bath, something he’d normally do first anyway after a day of international Floo travel. He rose from the bed, hoping the warmth of the bath would ease the tension that seemed to be the only thing holding him upright.

 

He flipped on the light of the ensuite. The room was large and luxurious, obviously designed to provide comfort to guests. Although there was no window, mirrors covered much of the wall space, making the room bright and pleasant. After turning on the tap to fill the large tub, Draco began to undress. He didn’t think he purposely saved his shirt until last, but it wasn’t until he was standing there with nothing else on that he realized his usual habit was to remove his shirt first. He had never really given much thought to his routine for dressing and undressing – or whether he even had a routine.

 

Slowly, Draco began to unbutton his shirt. It occurred to him, then, that it had been years since he’d avoided looking at his left arm. With the buttons all undone, Draco now quickly disposed of the shirt, just to get on with it. When he looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes were immediately drawn to the bondmark on his upper arm. His arm was hanging naturally at his side, so the other, older mark on his arm was not immediately visible. Not that Draco needed to see it, to know it was there. He chose to focus on the new mark. Harry’s mark.

 

It was beautiful, Draco realized. When it has first appeared, just after midnight, Draco had been too upset and off-balance to really think beyond the existence of the bondmark. He’d looked at it, certainly. He’d probably spent hours looking at it before the sun rose. But he’d been too distracted by what it meant to really notice the detail of it. Now, he realized it was – absolutely – beautiful. As if some gifted artist had taken hours to blend the colors just so, and form the dips and curves of the woven pattern to create a masterpiece.

 

Draco flexed his arm, watching the shift of muscles under the bondmark. He caught his reflection in the mirror and moved closer to admire the work from a different vantage point. It stood out against his pale skin, but not in a way that was unattractive. He took a moment to take in his overall appearance. Draco knew he was handsome; he’d never been short on admirers. Now, with the mark, he felt… desirable. He knew Harry had found him attractive before. What would he think now, if he could see this mark on Draco? This mark that bound them to each other.

 

And then, rotating his shoulders, his arms twisted a bit – just enough for Draco to see a hint of the other mark lower on his left arm. He didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want the beauty of the bondmark adulterated by it. But somehow, he couldn’t stop himself from rotating his arm further, until the Dark Mark was fully visible. His stomach twisted at the sight. The ugly, black stain seemed to burn anew, as it had done when Voldemort had marked him all those years before. This was the reason Harry could never be his. Why they could never work, as Harry had put it. The bondmark was beautiful, but the mistakes of Draco’s past had a prior claim on him.

 

He turned away from the mirror. The bath was now full. Draco didn’t waste another moment before slipping into the water and immediately felt some release of the tension. He briefly hoped this mundane activity would allow him to think of something other than the mark and Harry. But no matter how he tried to clear his mind, or alternately fill it with anything else, Harry was all he could think about. Harry and the mark.

 

And, of course… the article in the _Prophet_. He had a copy of it in his suitcase, tucked in with all the clothes he’d shrunk to fit into the small bag he liked to use for his excursions. He probably should have thrown the paper out. He hadn’t read the entirety yet; he’d been afraid of drawing attention to himself if he couldn’t contain his reactions to it. But he’d read all he needed to confirm that Harry’s reaction to the bondmark was not welcoming, to say the least. The author of the piece had actually been with Harry at the Hog’s Head when the mark manifested.

 

Draco had been dozing on the sofa in his sitting room when the clock struck midnight.  He woke, thinking he’d taken ill. Everything had been spinning. He’d practically clawed his shirt off to try to figure out what was happening to his arm and make it stop. Draco had immediately recognized the bondmark for what it was, knew what it meant, and was absolutely certain he knew who he would find at the other end of the bondline.

 

He’d been aware, of course, that Harry’s birthday was approaching. Everyone in Wizarding Britain knew the date of Harry Potter’s birth. He’d even been invited to the party by Neville and Hannah when he’d delivered a rare plant to Neville a few days before. He’d declined the invitation, graciously. When the mark manifested, Draco knew immediately that Harry would have a mark that was a perfect match for his. He had gone through a multitude of emotions in those hours. It seemed as if it was all at once the best and worst thing that could have happened.

 

Draco had been too agitated to sleep. He’d spent the night pacing about his room, running to the mirror from time to time to examine the mark, trying to make a plan of how to handle this situation. How to approach Harry – then berating himself for even considering it a possibility. At one point he’d slipped down to the library and found a book on bondlines. It was in his valise now, made temporarily miniature with the rest of his belongings.

 

Finally, it had been time to join his parents for breakfast. He’d wondered if they would be able to tell what had happened to him just by looking. It always seemed as if they could read everything about him in a glance. The two of them were, separately, far too clever. Together they were a veritable menace. Draco had learned to hide his emotions from other people, but he’d rarely been able to do so with his parents.

 

By the time he’d made his way downstairs, Draco had decided to hold off telling his parents until he had a chance to talk to Harry. He had paused for a moment by the door leading out to the terrace to try to make certain he was calm and composed. He could see his parents at breakfast, each reading a section of the paper. Although… his mother hadn’t actually been reading hers, but was instead watching her husband. Lucius, once Draco took the time to notice, was irritated about something he was reading in that horrible excuse for a newspaper. Draco hadn’t needed to wonder too long about it, though. Lucius had made a noise of disgust, looking for a moment as if he would toss the paper aside.

 

“Ungrateful, jumped-up, idiotic – ”

 

“Yes, dear,” Narcissa had said, with barely masked exasperation. “I’m well aware of your opinion of Harry Potter. Now either tell me about the remainder of the article, or give me the paper so I can read it for myself.”

 

At the mention of Harry’s name, Draco had drawn back a bit from the door. Not so far away that he couldn’t eavesdrop on his parents’ conversation; if it was about Harry, it was now his business, too.

 

“Fine!” Lucius had snapped. “Not only was he completely ignorant of bondlines – one of the most wondrous, honorable manifestations of magic-”

 

“Yes, Lucius! I know.” Narcissa had sounded about a second away from grabbing the paper – or possibly something that would inflict pain. “Tell me!!”

 

“He cursed his fate!” Lucius bellowed.

 

Then there was silence from the terrace. Thinking back on it now, Draco couldn’t recall if he’d stayed to hear his mother’s response. He’d returned immediately to his rooms and packed his bag. Initially, he had no particular destination in mind, just needed to get away as soon as possible. It really wasn’t until he had already begun the note to his parents that he decided what destination to fill in. The Ukraine would make sense and put him as far away as reasonably possible by the end of the day. He’d mentioned, in a recent conversation with his father, that he’d been corresponding with a merchant in Kiev, but kept his intended destination vague in the note. His parents knew that sometimes items came up for sale on a limited time basis, and he was not the only wizard in the world interested in rare magical books and items.

 

He’d left the note on his bed, knowing one of the house-elves would find it later and deliver it to his parents. It was still very early in the day when Draco left the manor, and he was able to make it to the international Floo terminal without seeing anyone he knew. It was as he stood there waiting for his Floo departure that he noticed copies of _The Prophet_ still available at a nearby newsstand. The thought of seeing the words he’d overheard his father say made Draco feel a bit nauseous again, but he knew he needed to read the article eventually to fully understand where Harry stood on the issue.

 

And now the newspaper and the book on bondlines awaited him in the other room. Draco wanted to learn all he could about the bondmark and bondline. He knew bonded mates could sense things about one another, but it seemed to vary from couple to couple. What he hoped to discover was if there was any way to block the bond. He couldn’t let Harry know they were bonded. The noble idiot would insist on being with Draco out of a sense of obligation. He’d probably even make an effort to be pleasant to Draco, and pretend to accept the bond. But Draco knew how Harry really felt about the bond. He’d cursed it, cursed Fate for burdening him with it. And Draco knew that Harry truly believed they brought out the worst in each other and could never make it work. Fate must have made a mistake. Perhaps it had decided upon them before they were born. Before circumstances made them enemies. Before Draco changed things irrevocably by taking another’s mark first.

 

_Mid-November 2007_

“So,” Harry said, with barely contained excitement. “What do you think?”

 

Ron and Hermione looked up at the house that Harry had just purchased. It had probably been very grand at one time. Many, many years ago. The area around it was overgrown, the paint on the doors was faded and peeling. Ivy, obviously long left unchecked, covered much of the stonework. A few of the windows were covered with boards. But Harry had assured them, despite the appearance of the house, it was structurally sound.

 

“It’s big,” Ron answered almost immediately. “And really old. It looks like a lot of work.” He grunted when Hermione elbowed him in the side and added “I mean, I like it; it looks cool.”

 

Harry grinned, practically bouncing on his feet. “Thanks.” He seemed to get lost for a moment, gazing at the house, obviously seeing in it something that eluded his friends. Then he turned back to Hermione. “Well, Hermione? What do _you_ think?”

 

She opened her mouth to answer, but seemed to have difficulty deciding what to say. Harry waited patiently, smiling at her.

 

“Yes, Hermione,” Ron said, too innocently. “Tell us what you think of Harry’s house.”

 

Hermione took a moment to glare at her husband before stepping over to link her arm with Harry’s. “I think… it’s got a lot of potential. How did you even find this place?”

 

Harry happily launched into an explanation. “Well, I was at the Three Broomsticks the other day, and George asked me how my house search was going. Madame Rosmerta overheard me tell him how frustrated I was. How I really wanted to settle down here in Hogsmeade, but none of the available houses felt right. She asked me what I was looking for, and we talked about it for a while. She said there was an old house just a bit outside of town and told me how to find it.”

 

“Good thing,” Ron said. “It’s really hidden away in all these trees. I never realized there was anything out here.”

 

“I know,” said Harry enthusiastically. “That’s one of the things I really like about it. It’s private. And the great thing is that it’s not just the house. There’s quite a bit of land around it that’s part of the property, too.”

 

“Do you know anything about the history of the property?” Hermione asked.

 

For the first time, Harry’s smile faltered a bit. It didn’t completely fade, just became a bit sheepish. “Well, it’s really old.”

 

“Caught that, mate,” Ron said. “Almost everything around here’s really old.”

 

“Well, the agent said it wasn’t nearly as old as Hogsmeade, so there’s no way it could be the actual home of Hengist of Woodcroft –”

 

“The founder of Hogsmeade?” Hermione, of course, had immediately recognized the name.

 

“Yes,” said Harry. “I mean, no. It’s not the home of Hengist of Woodcroft. It couldn’t be. It’s old, yes, but it’s not that old. The agent said the person who built it just probably named it after him.”

 

“Named it?” Ron asked. “What’s the name of it?”

 

“Hengist Hall,” Harry said. “But Hengist wouldn’t have lived here,” Harry hastened to add again. “It’s not old enough for that. They just named it that because he… um… they think that Hengist lived somewhere around here.”

 

“Well, yeah,” said Ron. “He founded Hogsmeade.”

 

“Yes,” said Hermione. “But according to _Hogwarts: A History_ there was a significant amount of property damage in this area during the Goblin Rebellion of 1612. Are you saying that this house is was built where Hengist’s home was originally?”

 

“Maybe?” Harry said. “The agent wasn’t sure. It could just be that people think Hengist lived here. A story handed down kind of thing.”

 

Ron was laughing. Both Harry and Hermione turned to him, curious. “It’s just…” Ron stopped, shaking his head and smiling. “It’s just so Harry to end up living in the house of the fucking founder of Hogsmeade.”

 

“No – it’s not – I just said, Hengist never lived here. This house isn’t that old.” Harry wasn’t irritated at Ron’s laughter, because he might have had a bit of a point. Things like this did tend to happen to Harry. He was just a bit exasperated that Ron had missed the point.

 

“How old is the house?” Hermione asked, looking as if she already had some idea.

 

Harry shrugged and tried not to look self-conscious. “Late 1600s. But there have been some additions and updates over the years.”

 

Hermione squeezed Harry’s arm with hers and smiled at him. “I like it, Harry. It’s going to be really something when you’ve fixed it up.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry said, smiling his appreciation at her. “Ron’s right though. It is going to be a lot of work. I’ve already talked to some people about the renovations that need to be made and everything. The good thing is that magical repairs are much quicker than Muggle ones. It should be habitable by Christmas.”

 

“I’m happy for you, Harry. Really,” Ron said. “I just have to ask – why this house? I guess I never imagined you in anything so… manor-like.”

 

“Manor-like?” Harry asked. He hadn’t really thought of it like that. Odd. “I don’t know.” He paused for a moment, then the self-conscious look was back. “I just… I know _he’ll_ like it, you know?”

 

Ron and Hermione were, by now, used to Harry’s references to his bondmate. Though Hermione had come to accept the idea that there was someone out there with a mark on his arm that matched Harry’s, someone destined to be with him, she could not help the concern she continued to feel about the situation. Especially since the man was, for some unfathomable reason, unwilling to come forward to accept the bond.

 

“Has he… is he still…” She wasn’t sure how to ask. Harry seemed so happy at the moment. She didn’t want to upset him.

 

“No,” Harry said. “He still thinks Fate… made a mistake or something.” Harry sighed. “I’d really hoped the interview I did for _The Quibbler_ would convince him that the article Declan published in the _Prophet_ got it all wrong.”

 

As usual when Harry mentioned Declan McLaggen, he did so with teeth gritted tight and hands clenched into fists. They’d only met the night of Harry’s birthday party, but Harry had still felt terribly betrayed to wake up on July 31st to an article in _The Daily Prophet_ , written by Declan, sensationalizing the appearance of Harry’s bondmark. The bastard had wasted no time and used the story to get the job he’d wanted so badly. Even after the resulting public obsession about the issue died down, Harry was still left with the feeling that something that should have been private, something between him and his bondmate, had been torn away, cruelly exposed. And the fact that the story had depicted Harry as desperate to repudiate the bond – as if that was even possible – had driven his mate away.

 

The truth was, Harry hadn’t been completely on board with the whole idea of being bonded to someone that Fate had just decided upon. Not right way. But over the last few months, his feelings had changed. He’d had time to consider the situation and he’d read all the books Hermione had found for him. He’d begun to feel comforted by the bond, knowing that he didn’t have to worry or wonder if he’d be alone for the rest of his life. That there was someone out there who would love him, just for being him. And Harry would cherish and care for the man who was his perfect match. He already felt that way.

 

He’d learned how to, in a sense, share himself with his mate through the bondline. And he could, from time to time, feel things about his mate: what he was sometimes thinking, how he felt about certain things. Sometimes, Harry swore he could hear actual words or snatches of conversation. But he could also tell that his mate was, somehow, blocking the bond. The man had been clear enough on his opinion that Harry had been right about Fate, and a mistake had been made. He was convinced, for some reason, that Harry would be happier without him. Beyond that, he’d never tried to make any connection along the bondline. Harry was left only with random hints of feelings and fragments of thought that his bondmate probably didn’t even realize he was allowing.

 

Ron nudged Harry’s shoulder a bit, drawing him from his thoughts. “He’ll come around, mate. A bondline, that magic is too powerful to ignore forever.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry said. “But I kind of wish he’d change his mind before the bond just drives him into my arms, or whatever. I don’t want him to feel forced.”

 

Ron nodded his understanding and, as one, they all turned once more to look at the house. Ron couldn’t stay silent for long, though. “You know, at first I wondered how you ever found this place, all hidden back here as it is. But, the more I think about it, I have to wonder how everyone doesn’t know about it. It’s not that far out of town and it’s really big. It had to have been important at one time.”

 

“You’re right,” Hermione said. “Hengist Hall, even if it was no longer inhabited, would have been a landmark or something. It’s hard to imagine that anything even remotely associated with the founder of the only all-wizarding village would just be forgotten.”

 

Harry nodded. “I’ve thought about that. I think… I think it was waiting for me. For us.” He smiled wryly. “Another one of those gifts from Fate, you know?”

 

Harry had thought a great deal about this. It had seemed very strange that the house had just been forgotten. According to the records he’d been able to track down, no one had lived in the house for over three hundred years. And the way people reacted had been odd. After Madame Rosmerta had told Harry about the house, she’d laughed and commented that it was as if she’d simply forgotten the house existed. After he and George had located the house and had a look around, Harry had contacted Bernadine Kettleplum, the agent and licensed conveyancer for Hogsmeade. When Harry had told her which property he was interested in she had assured him there was no house there. She’d even pulled out a map to show him all the documented properties. And there on the map had been Hengist Hall. Mrs. Kettleplum had laughed and begged Harry’s pardon, confused as to how she could have forgotten it.

 

When he told Ron and Hermione about this, they agreed it seemed that some form of magic must have been keeping the house out of sight and mind. Then Ron, looking at the house again, just shook his head.

 

“What?” Harry asked.

 

“Your life is weird,” Ron said

 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I know.” He moved up to the door of the house and said, “Come on, I’ll show you the inside.”

 

January 1st, 2008

 

Draco’s orgasm woke him from a fitful sleep. He lay, breathing heavily, torn between reveling in the delicious sensation he’d experienced far too infrequently of late and being disgusted with himself for coming in his sleep like a teenager. Once his heart rate settled a bit, he sat up and pushed back his covers. On his way to the ensuite, the ancient mantle clock in his sitting room chimed three times. Draco felt a bit irritated when he realized he couldn’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours.

 

He’d attended the small gathering his parents had hosted to ring in the New Year. After he’d joined his parents in seeing their guests off at the end of the night, Draco had retired to his rooms. Champagne and the late hour had made him pleasantly drowsy; he’d had no difficulty drifting off to sleep.

 

In his dream, Draco had been walking through the woods. Naked. That should have tipped him off right away that the bondline was active, and his mate was lurking about somewhere in his subconscious. It had happened before. Not often, and Draco was usually able to block it, even while sleeping.

 

He was going to blame the champagne this time. And the fact that he’d had some close calls over the past couple of weeks, barely avoiding running into Harry in various situations over the holidays. Though he’d made sure Harry hadn’t seen him, they had been in close physical proximity more times in the past couple of weeks than they had since the bondmark manifested. He wasn’t sure if Harry would be able to sense anything, but Draco hadn’t wanted to take the risk.

 

Quickly, he stripped off his sleep pants and washed away the stickiness with a warm, wet flannel. He thought briefly of showering, but it was late – or very early – and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his warm bed and go back to sleep. No further dreams, erotic or no, would be preferred, as well. He certainly didn’t want to risk further intercourse, in any form, with his mate.

 

Grabbing a clean pair of sleep pants on his way back to the bedroom, he slipped them on before settling into bed once more, pulling the covers up about him. He wanted desperately to just slip back into slumber, but could tell right away that wouldn’t happen easily. He was awake now, and unable to think of anything but Harry.

 

So far, Draco felt fairly certain that he’d successfully kept Harry at a distance, as much as was possible with the bond. The book he’d originally taken from the manor’s library had been an excellent source of information about bondmarks and all that came with them. And, during his many trips abroad to acquire magical objects, he’d picked up a few other books about the topic. The information he’d gained helped Draco to continue to conceal his identity from his mate and limit what Harry was allowed to sense from him through the bondline.

 

It wasn’t perfect of course. For one thing, it sometimes seemed as if Harry was constantly bombarding him with images and emotions. Draco wasn’t even certain that it was purposefully done on all occasions. He suspected Harry simply wasn’t trying very hard to stop the flow of such things along the bondline.

 

And that’s how Draco recognized the house that was the eventual destination of his nude stroll through the forest in his dream. He’d never seen the house clearly through the bond, just flashes of images here and there, and he couldn’t really see it all that clearly in the dream. And though he’d been tempted every single time he’d been in Hogsmeade in the past weeks, he’d resisted the urge to try to find the house that everyone was talking about – the one Harry Potter had purchased and restored in anticipation of uniting with his bondmate.

 

One thing had been quite clear, though. Draco had seen, on several occasions since Harry had purchased the house, the heavy doors leading to the master bedroom. In his dream, he’d been standing outside the house, and then suddenly, as if he had Apparated, he was standing in front of those doors. They were impressive: heavy ancient oak, the designs carved into the wood still distinct despite the years that must have passed since they were created. Around the edges, there was a woven pattern almost identical to the bondmark. But it was the other design on the doors that frequently seemed to evoke a flood of feelings from Harry. Dragons had been carved in gorgeous detail, one on each door. Draco longed to actually see them, run his hands over the surface to trace the shape of the magnificent beasts.

 

Harry’s response to the dragons simultaneously amused and annoyed Draco. There was pride of ownership and appreciation for the beauty of the design. Occasionally, Harry seemed to study the doors with a sense of awe. But eventually, although Draco was certain Harry was trying to tamp down these feelings, he could feel something like guilt coming along the bondline. It was then that Draco could see an image of himself in Harry’s mind and feel an almost choking sense of longing.

 

Draco usually hurried to tune out anything coming from Harry, because he didn’t want to risk broadcasting any kind of response – especially something that might make it possible for Harry to identify him. So far, he felt he’d been very fortunate. But Harry had, at least once, sensed something in Draco’s reaction. It had caused him to speculate on the possibility of Draco being his bondmate, but he eventually seemed to decide it was just wishful thinking. Then there was more guilt as Harry reprimanded himself for being, in a sense, unfaithful to his bondmate.

 

In his dream, Draco hadn’t paused to admire the dragons. The doors had swung open without being touched and he entered what he just seemed to know was a large and elegant room. The details of the room were hazy; no clearer in the dream than in the images he received from Harry. In fact, the only thing in the room that was presented in any clarity was the bed and the man fast asleep on it: Draco’s bondmate.

 

He had walked over to the bed and looked his fill at Harry. It had been so long since he’d seen him, and Draco had been all at once hit with that feeling of missing someone who is going away for awhile, before they actually leave. And then there was the same sense of longing he’d often felt along the bondline from Harry. It didn’t surprise Draco; he’d felt that same emotion on a fairly regular basis. But just then he had to wonder if what he was feeling was coming from himself or from Harry. And what about this dream? Was it his dream, or was this Harry’s?

 

Draco’s shiver had recalled him to the fact that he was, still, naked. Surely the nakedness meant this was Harry’s dream. But if it was, wouldn’t the details of the room around him be more clearly defined? After all, Harry knew exactly what the room looked like. Draco shivered again. Despite the plush carpet under his feet and the warmth radiating from the nearby hearth, Draco felt cold. And he was really tired. Why should Harry be the only one snuggled down into the comfort of that nice, big bed?

 

The solution had been simple. Draco hadn’t needed to ponder or agonize. He was here, naked, cold, weary – and there was a very comfy bed right in front of him. Gorgeous man in the bed? A well-deserved bonus, to Draco’s way of thinking, for the complete disruption of his life by the bond – _and_ the fact that he’d not shared a bed – or anything else – with another man since this whole bonding nonsense had begun. He had lifted the coverings, planning to quickly slip into bed, hoping not to awaken Harry. Because he was trying to be quick about it, his momentum carried him down just as it registered that Harry was as naked as Draco under those covers.  

 

Draco wasn’t certain what that meant as far as determining who was dreaming this. As he had burrowed down under the covers, he had supposed that, if Harry had dreamt of Draco being naked, he might want a bit of mutual nudity, as well. Yes, it must be Harry’s dream, because Draco would never dream of Harry naked.

 

 Lies didn’t count in dreams. Did they?

 

Odd, though, Draco had thought as his mind seemed to be slipping toward actual slumber again, that someone would waste perfectly good dream-induced nudity to just go on sleeping.

 

“I agree,” Harry had said, his deep voice husky with sleep.

 

Draco’s eyes had shot open to find Harry turned toward him in the bed, staring at him. Sort of. He wasn’t wearing his glasses –

 

“Why would I be wearing my glasses?” Harry had asked in answer to Draco’s thoughts. “I was sleeping.” Harry’s brow furrowed. “Is that why I can’t see you very well?” Harry asked him then. “Because I’m not wearing my glasses?”

 

Draco hadn’t dared answer. Not aloud anyway. He hadn’t wanted Harry to recognize his voice. And then he had hoped that he’d thought that without broadcasting it. There was just too much of a risk in remaining here. Draco had made a move to go, but Harry’s hand shot out, catching him about the wrist and holding him there.

 

“Don’t go,” Harry had said, the sad longing evident in his voice. Then, incongruously, he had smiled. “I can touch you! Can’t really see you. You’re just sort of this glowing, blurry blob thing.”

 

Draco had scoffed. “That’s flattering.” Then he’d tensed, realizing he’d spoken aloud. Harry was looking at him strangely again, but Draco didn’t think there was recognition in his gaze.

 

“Does your voice always sound like that?” Harry asked. “Kind of like… bell chimes?” Harry shook his head. “Weird. I can hear the… chiming thing, but I’m pretty sure I know what you said.”

 

Relief had flooded Draco. Evidently, even in his sleep, even when he was dreaming of being, well, _intimate_ with his bondmate, Harry was unable to recognize him. A rush of pride in his magical ability swept through him. Harry rolled his eyes, apparently able to interpret what Draco was feeling.

 

“Yes, you’re very powerful,” Harry said, trying to grimace, but looking amused. Then his expression had softened. “And you’re here,” he’d said quietly. “Even if it is only a dream.”

 

Draco hadn’t tried to pull his wrist out of Harry’s grasp, but he’d turned away, unable to meet the love shining from Harry’s eyes. The silence felt awkward to Draco, so he filled it with words. Or chimes, apparently. “So… is this your dream, then?”

 

Harry had considered the question for a moment. “I don’t know. Seems as if it might be. I’ve never been able to actually see you in any of my dreams.” He’d smiled then. “I’ve never been able to touch you before, either. Well, I mean… I have touched you. Tried.” Harry seemed a little frustrated trying to explain it. He squeezed Draco’s wrist gently. “I’ve just never been about to _feel_ you. Do you know what I mean?”

 

“Not really,” Draco had said.

 

Harry had looked a bit exasperated, perhaps a little disappointed at that. “What, you’ve never dreamt of me? Of course not. You don’t want to be with me.”

 

Draco had pulled his hands from Harry’s grasp before Harry could stop him. Instead of moving away, he put his fingers over Harry’s lips, hushing him. “I… have dreamt of you,” Draco admitted, knowing he’d likely regret it. “But this is very vivid. Or, you are. I can’t quite make out the rest of the room.”

 

His brow furrowed momentarily, then Harry grinned, pulled his mouth away from Draco’s fingers and began to chatter excitedly. “So, I can’t see you, and you can’t see the room. Maybe we’re both having this dream. I’ll bet that can happen with the bond, right? And since you’ve never seen this room, and I’ve never seen you… oh. That can’t be right.” Harry frowned again. “I have seen you before, yeah? That’s one of the conditions of the bond.” Now Harry’s expression darkened a bit. Draco recognized signs of impending anger. “But I can’t see you because you’re blocking me, right?” Harry had seized Draco’s wrist again. “Why are you blocking me? Why don’t you want me?”

 

All Draco could think of was to hush Harry again. This time he did it with his lips, hoping it would be more effective. It was. For a while, anyway. The kiss heated almost instantaneously, and there were sighs and then moans of pleasure. Draco had denied himself any part of Harry for so long, had blocked him so effectively, he was completely unprepared for the depth of the passion and need between them. He hadn’t even attempted to resist it. Doubted he would have been able to, even if he’d tried.

 

So they had touched and kissed, bit and tasted. Neither Harry nor Draco attempted to hold back, both knowing that dreams are fleeting things. Knowing it would have to end.

 

And it did, when they had stroked each other to world-rocking orgasms, gasping cries into their kiss. Then Draco awoke.

 

_April 2008_

 

Any match against the Falmouth Falcons was bound to be particularly fast-paced and vicious – even beyond what was considered typical for a professional Quidditch match. The Falcons took seriously their motto: _Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads._ Since Puddlemere had won the two previous matches between them, Harry and his team anticipated that today’s meeting would be exceptionally intense.

 

Even before the teams had taken to the air, Harry felt as if he was riding a current of energy that must surely run through every member of the team. The onlookers in the stands seemed tapped into the excitement, as well; the entire stadium buzzed with anticipation. This was not particularly unusual – especially for a game being played on their home pitch, but today the feeling seemed oddly amplified, almost as if this was a playoff match instead of one in the middle of the regular season.

 

Harry was fairly certain the reason for his personal enthusiasm for this particular match stemmed from the presence of the special guests who occupied the large private box he had arranged for them.  When the schedule of matches for the current season had been promulgated, Harry discovered that this match against Falmouth fell on Teddy’s birthday. Harry had been fortunate that he’d only been faced with this conflict once before, but it had been years ago when Teddy was too young to even understand the concept of birthday parties. Andromeda had been receptive to the idea of incorporating the match as part of the celebration, but they both agreed the final decision should be Teddy’s. Though the boy showed no real interest in playing the sport himself, he had always been Harry’s biggest fan and followed the team faithfully. Teddy enthusiastically embraced the idea of forgoing a more typical birthday party scenario in favor of the opportunity to watch his godfather play Quidditch from one of the private boxes. He had then immediately notified everyone he knew of the cool celebration he would be having – even though it was months away at the time.

 

When the players flew onto the pitch to be announced, Harry led his team in a special flyby of the box, sparks shooting from the tails of their brooms to form the words ‘Happy Birthday, Teddy” in large, glittering letters. Wild cheers erupted from the box, as well as the rest of the home crowd in the stands. The huge smile Harry could discern on Teddy’s face made him feel as though he was playing for the championship.

 

Once play began, the pace of the game quickly engaged Harry’s full attention, and the cheering crowd below seemed to fade away. He tracked the other players, maintaining an awareness of the action and progress of the match, even while watching for signs of the Snitch.  The elusive, winged ball refused to show itself until almost an hour into the match. Both Harry and Bartholomew Preston, the Falcons’ Seeker, gave immediate pursuit, but while they tussled and jostled for better position, the Snitch disappeared once more.

 

Harry was frustrated, despite the fact that it was highly unusual to intercept a Snitch so early in a match – especially just after its initial appearance. As he circled above the main action on the pitch, he considered that frustration seemed to be his default emotion these days.

 

He’d hoped, after a New Years dream visit by his bondmate, the man would seek him out. Accept the bond. The dream encounter had been the hottest thing Harry had ever experienced; he didn’t think he’d ever come that hard even when conscious during sex. Harry had been so certain, in the days after the dream, that his mate would just show up at the house, walk in the front door and be home and his. He’d spent every moment there in the following weeks, only leaving for Quidditch matches. But apparently, nothing had changed – except his bondmate had pulled even further away. Harry hadn’t been able to sense much of anything from him since that night. Their brilliant dream encounter had been nothing but a virtual booty-call to his bondmate. The bastard.

 

 It had hurt; he’d been angry. But Harry hadn’t given up hope. He’d decided to carry on with his life and just wait the bastard out. It was a lot like playing Seeker, in a way. His bondmate was proving every single bit as elusive as a Snitch. Harry briefly wondered if he should start to call the man ‘Snitch’ since he continued to be thwarted in his quest to discover his true identity. _Perhaps_ , Harry thought wryly, _that will be my pet name for him if I ever do capture him_.  

 

A strong, sudden flash of irritation swept through Harry’s mind, actually causing him to physically flinch. Instantaneously, he knew that it was the reaction of his bondmate in response to the idea of such a stupid, sappy nickname. Harry halted his broom, hovering in a stationary mode. There had been other moments when he had distinctly sensed his bondmate’s thoughts or feelings, but there was something different about this time. It was stronger, somehow. Clearer. Then a flash of something bright and golden caught Harry’s eye, and he turned his attention to it. It seemed to be coming from below him. Was the Snitch ghosting about near the spectator boxes? He turned his broom, intending to descend a bit to investigate the possibility of the Snitch near the stands. Almost simultaneously, Preston shot past Harry, clearly in pursuit of the Snitch but in the opposite direction from the spectator area.

 

Mentally kicking himself for being distracted by a false lead, Harry swung his broom up and around chasing after Preston and the actual Snitch. Harry could see the Snitch now, as he poured on speed in an effort to overtake the other Seeker. As always, his adrenaline flared and he felt completely exhilarated. Only, there seemed to be even more to the feeling than usual. Another layer of excitement along with his own.

 

Understanding struck like a Bludger: the added emotion belonged to his bondmate. The man was there, in the stadium, watching the match. The realization spurred Harry, and his magic flared, causing his broom to accelerate past his opponent. Preston was not prepared to give up without a fight. Harry felt a backward tug on his broom, a clear sign that Preston had grabbed onto the tail in an effort to slow Harry’s momentum. It didn’t work, and Harry was able to pull away. In the momentary distraction, however, Harry lost sight of the Snitch once more. Despite this, he continued to barrel upward and, knowing that Preston was close behind him, considered diving into a Wronski Feint.

 

_Posturing Idiot._

Harry didn’t actually hear the words nor see them, somehow, written in his mind. But he understood them quite clearly nonetheless. Every bit as well as he recognized that his bondmate was accusing him of trying to impress him by showing off his Quidditch prowess. _Well_ , Harry thought at him, _what if I am?_

 

He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Not exactly, anyway. What he did get was the image of a peacock strutting proudly, showing his feathers for his mate.

 

Peacocks. _Peacocks._

 

Suddenly, the image of Draco Malfoy gazing up at him from the stands somewhere below came clearly to his mind, and realization really did hit like a Bludger – at the exact same moment as an actual Bludger caught Harry in the chest, knocking him from his broom to plummet toward the hard ground below.

 

H&D

 

Draco had taken the precaution of arriving after the match between Puddlemere and the Falcons began. He hadn’t wanted to risk running into Harry, in case he’d planned to visit Teddy before the match. The box was full of Teddy’s young friends and the usual contingent of their predominately Gryffindor parents.

 

“Draco,” his mother called, holding out her hands to him as she approached. He kissed the cheek she offered and allowed her to lead him over to one of the seating areas. He stopped short when he noticed his father. Narcissa’s presence at the gathering was no surprise, but he was frankly a little shocked to find his father there as well. Draco had no doubt that Teddy had invited Lucius; the two of them had an interesting, if awkward and wary, relationship that Draco found fairly hilarious to observe. Usually, however, Lucius avoided the larger gatherings. He was extremely taken aback, therefore, to see his father sitting calmly in the same space as several Weasleys.

 

As if reading Draco’s thoughts, Lucius gave a small shrug and said, “It’s Quidditch.”

 

Teddy noticed him then and came running over to give him a quick hug. “You’re here! Grandmother said you might not be able to come.”

 

“Sometimes travel by International Floo Network is a bit dodgy,” Draco said, preferring to give a vague answer in an effort to avoid lying outright to the boy. He didn’t think Teddy needed to know that he had simply delayed his arrival to avoid Harry. “Brilliant way to celebrate your birthday, though,” he said, in an effort to move the focus away from himself.

 

“Yeah, I know!” Teddy enthused. “Gotta get back to the game now.” He gave Draco another quick hug and turned to run back to the front of the box.

 

Before Draco could turn back to his parents, Hermione approached, offering him a cup of what appeared to be pumpkin juice. He accepted it with a smile, hoping she would move along, but knowing it was unlikely.

 

Sure enough, Hermione patted his shoulder and said, “It’s good to see you, Draco. It’s been ages.”

 

“Well, as you know, I travel a lot,” he said. It was a pretty pathetic response, he knew, but he’d never gotten over the impulse to be cautious around Granger. She was one of those witches who wouldn’t need a crystal ball to read your thoughts and motives. She somehow just seemed to _know_ when something was afoot. Draco had known from the moment the bondmark appeared that there were certain people he would do best to avoid, and she was definitely near the very top of that list.

 

“I know,” Hermione said. “I envy you that sometimes. Must be exciting.”

 

“Can be,” he confirmed. “Mostly it’s just nice to have a hobby that involves travel to interesting places in pursuit of interesting items. And I can go whenever I please, or stay home for a while. So, yeah, I guess I can’t complain.”

 

“I was wondering,” she began, the speculative look in her eye sending up a red flag to Draco immediately. “Hannah told me that you sometimes agree to look for particular items.”

 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. He really did not want to ask, but knew she’d pursue it anyway. “Are you looking for something?”

 

“Well, yes. You know about Harry’s bondmark, right?” She grimaced a bit. “Unfortunately, it was in all the papers when it materialized. Are you alright?”

 

Draco coughed a bit, trying to clear his lungs of the juice he’d inhaled when she’d mentioned the bondmark. “Yes, thank you,” he said, voice strained. When he could speak more clearly he added, “And, yes, I remember reading something about it.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Well, then. I was wondering if you could keep an eye out for any books you might find about the subject. I’ve fairly exhausted the libraries at home, including several private collections.”

 

“Of course,” Draco agreed quickly. He was past ready to end this conversation, although he had the feeling she was prepared to discuss it at length. Salvation arrived in the form of Bill Weasley, holding a small blond child in his arms.

 

“Draco, come watch the game,” Bill said. “Hermione, you can’t keep a former Quidditch player away from the action.”

 

Hermione looked a bit annoyed, but smiled when Draco reassured her. “I promise to see what I can find, Hermione,” he said, and slipped past her to join the crowd avidly watching the match.

 

Draco tried to focus on the match as a whole, and not allow his attention to settle solely on Harry. It was exceedingly difficult. Harry’s exuberance was palpable – at least, to Draco it was. As the match progressed, the emotion coming from Harry morphed to annoyance – especially after the Snitch finally made an appearance, only to disappear again almost immediately. Draco was able to sense Harry’s growing frustration. Initially, he assumed it was directed toward the lack of progress toward finding the little golden ball. But then, as plainly as if Harry was standing right next to him, Draco heard _bondmate_ compared to the blasted Snitch. And then Harry had the nerve to consider it a pet name for his bondmate.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Draco muttered, momentarily forgetting that there were young children nearby.

 

“I know,” said Ron. “That was a close one. Wiggins has to step up his game if he’s going to keep out more of the Falcons’ goal attempts.” Leaning into Draco’s personal space, Ron whispered, “Mind the young ears, mate.”

 

“I know, I know!” Draco whispered back. _Merlin help me,_ he thought. _I’ve just been schooled on social graces by Ron Weasley. Get yourself under control, Draco!_

Just then the crowd in the box and the fans outside roared in excitement. Draco knew it could mean only one thing – the pursuit of the Snitch was on once more. He rushed with the rest to watch the action. As a former Seeker, Draco well remembered the thrill of the chase. He could almost feel the wind rushing past and the anticipation of reaching out to capture the prize. He wondered if the bond was allowing him to somehow physically share Harry’s experience.  The crowd cheered again as Harry, who had been behind, shot forward suddenly, over-taking the Falmouth Seeker.

 

“Foul!!” cried Ron, his outrage shared by all the Puddlemere supporters as they watched Bartholomew Preston grab at the tail of Harry’s broom to pull him back.  “That’s blatant Blagging!!”

 

“They won’t likely call it now,” Bill said. “Happened too fast.”

 

“And looks as if the Snitch has disappeared again,” Angelina added.

 

“Then why are they still flying up?” Teddy wanted to know. “Is the Snitch way up there now?”

 

“You don’t think Harry’s thinking about a Wronski Feint, do you?”

 

Draco listened only peripherally to the discussion of the others in the box. He managed to keep from calling Potter a showoff in hearing of his friends and family. But he certainly thought it loud and clear, almost hoping that the posturing idiot could hear him. It was as if Potter knew the person who was bonded to him was watching and he was… showing his plumage like some exotic bird looking to attract a mate.

 

“Looks like they’re heading back down now.”

 

 “He’s leading Preston on a merry chase, though!”

 

“Yeah – right into the path of that – !!”

 

“BLUDGER!!”

 

“No!!”

 

_DRACO!?_

He heard his name as if Harry had shouted it from only a few feet away. It was so loud and clear in his mind that it nearly drowned out the panicked yells of the people around him – the ones still watching the match. And then Draco felt a blow to his chest that seemed to brutally knock the air from his lungs as he crumpled to the floor.

 

Miraculously, he did not lose consciousness, but he was unable to speak when his mother and father rushed to his side. Draco was panicking, his anxiety spiking wildly at the thought of what must have happened to Harry and exacerbated by his inability to obtain breath. He could hear people shouting around him, knew somehow that most of them were still focused on the pitch and Harry.

 

Narcissa and Lucius knelt beside him. His father had drawn his wand, but seemed unsure what to cast to aid him. Narcissa had stopped asking questions once she realized that he could not verbalize an answer. She was speaking, though, low and quiet words to calm him. She rested her hand on his abdomen and Draco realized she was trying to get the muscle that was spasming there to relax.

 

Draco tried to focus on helping that endeavor, but the box was filled with noise and chaos, and some of the others began to notice Draco was in some difficulty. He tried to zero in on his parents because the rest of it was just agitating his fear and keeping his diaphragm in a spasm.

 

Finally, he was able to get out one word. It was quiet and said on the exhalation of the little bit of air he was able to take in. “Bond.”

 

“What did he say?” Andromeda was standing just behind Narcissa, concern clear on her face.

 

Draco returned his attention to Narcissa. _“Bond,”_ he whispered once more, but saw only confusion on her face. He tugged at his robes, fumbling with the fastening. His mother noticed his attempt and came to his aid. When he moved onto his shirt, she looked mildly alarmed, but continued to assist him.

 

“We’re going to try to get to Harry,” Ron said. He’d been watching as Harry’s body, buoyed by what must have been multiple Cushioning charms cast from all over the stadium, descended gently to the ground. He was one of the last to take notice of what was happening with Draco. “What’s going on?”

 

The question was answered beyond any doubt when Draco finally managed to bare his upper arm to show the bondmark. Every eye was riveted to the glittering pattern, mesmerized by the way the colors seemed to flow through the design that was woven around Draco’s arm.

 

“Harry,” Draco gasped. “Bond.” His voice was stronger now, but his heart was racing and his anxiety continued to grow. _“Harry!”_ He repeated, pleading. All at once, the group responded to the quiet urgency in Draco’s voice – and the reality that Draco Malfoy was Harry Potter’s bondmate.

 

“We’ve got to get him to Harry,” Hermione said.

 

Without hesitation, Lucius helped Draco to his feet and slipped a supporting arm around his waist. “We’re Apparating,” he said. And they were gone.

 

A moment of collective surprise froze the group in place – but only for a second. Then there were multiple pops of Apparation and the box was suddenly half empty. Andromeda and a few of the other adults had stayed to calm and reassure the children. Teddy made his way to his grandmother, falling into the arms she held open for him.

 

“Will they be okay?” he asked in a small voice.

 

Andromeda had a firm policy in speaking truth to children, and felt she was able to answer him with some confidence. “I believe they will be, dearest.”

 

H&D

 

It seemed as if a mob of people were crowded onto the pitch: Quidditch officials, coaches, the team Healers for both Puddlemere and the Falcons, and several of Harry’s team mates. Harry’s unconscious form lay in the middle of it all. Amid the chaos and shouting, no one noticed when two tall blond men Apparated on the edge of the crowd, nor paid heed when the older of the two shouted “Move aside!”

 

Many on the edges of the crowd did notice, however, the several simultaneous cracks of Apparition when a very large group of grim-faced, determined looking people – several red heads among them – arrived. They immediately began to try to push their way through to Harry, but with very limited success. Then one of the blond men, yelled “MOVE!!” in a voice obviously _Sonorus_ -enhanced. That’s all he appeared to do, but several people in front of him were tossed aside as if by the waves of sound from his shout. The crowd of people with him pushed the rest of the onlookers aside as the blond men stormed their way toward Harry.

 

Oliver had been hovering close to his injured teammate. The Healers had Harry stripped to the waist and were casting diagnostic spells; from their grim expressions, it was clear that Harry was very seriously injured. The Bludger had struck him square in the chest, and something about the injury had the Healer wary of treating him. Their coach was yelling for them to transport him to St. Mungo’s immediately. From where he stood in the middle of the crowd, Oliver barely heard the sounds of Apparition. And with his attention was focused on Harry, he didn’t pay much attention to it. But then he heard a roar of command and watched as bodies appeared to be flung aside by an invisible force. Then Lucius Malfoy, looking relentless and frightening, marched forward.

 

“Draco!” Oliver shouted. He had no idea why Draco was there, his father half-dragging him as they moved toward Harry’s prone form. Obviously, Draco was in some distress, his face pale and pinched with pain. The hand that was not fisted in his father’s cloak was clutched to his bare chest. His shirt hung off him. It was a matter of mere seconds for Oliver to take this all in, because very quickly he noticed the mark on Draco’s bared upper arm. The bondmark that looked exactly like Harry’s.

 

“Let them through!” Oliver pushed at the people still gathered close to Harry, frozen in shock at the sight of the furious, infamous former Death Eater bearing down on them. A few had made moves as if to close in around Harry, to protect him from Lucius Malfoy and the determined-looking army at his back. But a command from Oliver Wood carried weight with this crowd, and they didn’t hesitate long before moving aside.

 

The moment he reached Harry, Draco practically fell upon him, immediately closing one hand over Harry’s bondmark. He placed his other hand upon Harry’s chest. Draco threw back his head, eyes closed, as his bondmark began to glow and then swirl around his bicep. Then he opened his eyes and, force of will pouring off of him in waves, turned his fierce gaze upon his bondmate. Harry’s bondmark began to glow and twist to match Draco’s. Then both men convulsed, a ragged gasp ripped from their lungs, as the glow of the marks expanded to meet down the lengths of their arms.  

 

The crowd of people around them moved even further back when the glow grew to encompass the bodies of the two men. Everyone knew of Harry’s bondmark, and the immediate reaction of Draco’s in response to it made it clear that they were bonded mates. Some in the group even knew other bonded pairs. Knowing of it and witnessing the power of the bond were two completely different things. They stood shocked into silence, mesmerized by the magic blazing before them.

 

When the magic flared suddenly, many of those closest to the bondmates were left with spots before their eyes. Then the intense brightness of the bond magic softened as it ebbed. When it had receded to the bondmarks, Harry and Draco shuddered again. Draco still looked close to collapse, but held himself up as he looked down upon his bondmate. Only those closest to the pair saw Harry slowly open his eyes and smile at Draco just before the two fell unconscious, the bondmarks still suffused with the soft glow of the bond magic.   

 

H&D

 

St. Mungo’s Hospital was always prepared for the inevitable influx of Quidditch-related injuries on game days. An area of the Spell Damage ward was set aside especially for the purpose of treating players, or the occasional unlucky spectator, in need of care for the wide and often unpredictable range of injuries incurred during a match.

 

Harry knew immediately upon waking that he was at St. Mungo’s. Given the various means of wizarding transportation available, the hospital was easily accessible from the Puddlemere Stadium in Dorset, and this was hardly the first time he had returned to consciousness at the hospital as a result of an incident during a Quidditch match.

 

All Quidditch players were usually put on one large open ward to recover, once their injuries had been tended. The lighting was dim, but even without his glasses, Harry could tell this was one of the smaller, private rooms for those with more serious injuries or anticipating a longer recovery. He panicked a bit, wondering at the extent of his injuries, trying to recall what had happened. As he lay there for a few moments, taking stock of himself, Harry realized that he felt exhausted but… pretty amazing. Hoping his glasses were on the bedside table, he reached out and patted his hand around looking for them.

 

“Here.”

 

One word was not enough to identify the speaker, but the voice did seem familiar. The glasses were being held out to Harry, close enough for him to tell they were there, but the person offering them was just too blurry to distinguish.

 

Harry sat up to take the glasses. “Thank you,” he said, slipping them on. He wasn’t expecting – at all – to see Lucius Malfoy standing before him. Very close. In his private hospital room. “Jesus!” Harry half-shouted, flinching back. Lucius, the bastard, smirked.

 

Just then, Ron entered the room carrying a cup in each hand. “Harry! You’re awake!” His face broke into a huge grin, and he hurried past Lucius to Harry’s bedside.

 

Harry was relieved at Ron’s arrival, but concerned that Ron didn’t even seem to register Lucius’ presence. Perhaps he was more seriously injured than he thought and was hallucinating?

 

But when Ron tried to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, he realized his hands weren’t free. “Oh,” he uttered, and turned back to Lucius. “Sorry,” Ron said, handing one of the cups to him.

 

Lucius accepted the cup with a nod and turned away toward the far side of the room. It was then Harry saw that his room was not completely private. Another bed occupied the other the side, but he could not immediately see who was lying there.

 

But then… he didn’t need to actually see. Harry’s heart started beating an odd cadence. He felt hot all over, uncomfortable in his own skin. He knew who was in the other bed. It was his bondmate. It was Draco Malfoy.

 

“Draco!” Harry wasn’t certain if he had shouted or whispered, but the name fairly burst out of him. Lucius swung back around to look at him and when he did, Harry could see Draco. He was lying still, unconscious in the bed across the room.

 

For some reason, the first thought that occurred to him was that it was a year to the day since he’d last seen Draco. He’d known it, of course he had. But he’d worked to put his tangle of feelings for Draco aside and focus on readying himself to meet his bondmate. At times he’d felt grateful for Draco’s absence, afraid that seeing him would bring back the attraction that had continued to linger. How many times had Harry struggled with guilt, knowing that Fate had some special person chosen just for him, yet he continued to think about and even dream of Draco? Oh. But wait…

 

 As amazing as he’d felt just a few moments before, Harry suddenly felt weighted down with fatigue. Despite this, he struggled to rise from his bed. He had to get to Draco, touch him. Ron, realizing what Harry was attempting, set aside his tea and helped Harry stand. Lucius stepped back to allow them a clear path, but walked around to the other side of Draco’s bed.

 

“You’re white as a sheet, Harry,” Ron said. “Maybe you should lie back down.” Harry mumbled a protest, but his legs buckled just as they reached Draco’s bedside. Ron caught him about the waist before he fell to the floor.

 

With no energy left to even raise a hand to touch him, Harry could only stare down at Draco. He was at a loss and couldn’t even seem to gather enough breath to ask Ron to help him back to his bed.

 

“Move aside,” Lucius said. He’d drawn his wand and was casting before Harry or Ron could react. Draco’s bed started to expand, making what had been single into something that would accommodate two. Ron pulled Harry back and out of the way. When the transformation of the bed was complete, Lucius drew back the covers and waited for Ron to help Harry lay down next to Draco.

 

Harry was stunned at Lucius’ actions and wasn’t yet ready to rule out the possibility that he was hallucinating. But his thoughts were soon consumed with Draco. So near, but now that he was close enough, Harry couldn’t bring himself to touch him. Not yet.

 

“What happened?” Harry asked quietly. He couldn’t look away from Draco, but he assumed one of the others would realize he was talking to them and would answer.

 

“You don’t remember?” Ron asked. 

 

“He probably wouldn’t have asked, if he could remember,” Lucius said.

 

Harry hoped Ron was glaring at Lucius for the both of them because he was too done in to manage it. He closed his eyes to try to piece together what he could remember of events before he woke up here at St. Mungo’s. Of course there had been a Quidditch match. And flying by the private box filled with friends for Teddy’s birthday. Then the he’d seen the golden flash of the Snitch near the stands…

 

H&D

 

The next time Harry awoke, it was Hermione who handed him his glasses. The private room seemed a bit larger; Harry’s single bed had been removed and a sitting area had been added to accommodate Draco’s parents and Ron and Hermione. Harry still shared the enlarged bed with Draco. They weren’t touching, but Harry could feel a pleasant little buzz throughout his body. The sleeve of his hospital issue pajamas covered his arm, so he couldn’t see his bondmark. He could feel it, though, and it seemed to be pulsing minutely. It was almost ticklish.

 

Draco, lying beside him, was still unconscious and very pale. Harry knew he should probably sit up to talk with his visitors, but wanted to remain close to Draco. Needed to be able to watch his chest rise and fall, his eyelids flutter. 

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked. He thought he’d asked the question before, but he still didn’t know the answer.

 

“There was…” Hermione began, but seemed hesitant to continue. The decision was taken from her when Lucius spoke up.

 

“You were hit by a Bludger at the match against the Falcons, Mr. Potter. Do you recall?” Lucius said. His tone was terse but not unkind.

 

Harry did recall the match. And sensing his bondmate. And then, just before it hit, the Bludger hurtling toward him. He brought a hand to his chest. There was not even a hint of an ache there now, but Harry could well remember the excruciating pain of the impact. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember that. But nothing after. Well, other than waking up here sometime after the match. That’s a bit hazy though.”

 

Ron moved forward. “The first time you woke up, it was an hour or so after midnight.” Ron had turned to Lucius, who nodded in confirmation.

 

Harry was a bit shocked at that. It was always impossible to determine the time of day in the darkened hospital rooms, but he’d assumed it had been evening, just a few hours after the match. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“Draco was in the box with the rest of us, watching the match,” Ron began. “I didn’t notice at first, but when you got hit, he went down, too.”

 

Narcissa took up the tale. “We didn’t know what was happening to him, at the time. Now we know he was mirroring your injury in a way.” She stepped closer to the bed, her gaze moving over both men there. “We didn’t know he was your…”

 

“Bondmate.” Harry finished for her. He turned to look at Draco again. “I only realized it a few moments before that.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Damn peacocks.” Watching Draco as he was, Harry didn’t see the looks of confusion the others shared. “Guess that’s why I didn’t notice the Bludger until it was too late.” He let out a sigh. “Next thing I remember is waking up here.” Harry hesitated a moment before asking, “Has Draco woken up at all?”

 

“No,” Lucius said. “Probably because he wielded the bond magic, focusing it to save your life.” He looked suitably gratified by the shock apparent on Harry’s face.

 

“Lucius.” Narcissa didn’t roll her eyes and call him on his love of drama, but everything about the way she said his name suggested she wanted to. “Just tell him what happened. Or allow his friends to do so.”

 

And they did. Between the four of them, with Ron and Lucius contributing most of the conversation, they relayed what had happened on the pitch. Harry had inched closer to Draco during the retelling, though he still refrained from touching him. He longed to do so, was almost becoming uncomfortable with the need to do so. But Draco had only come forward to save Harry’s life. He hadn’t wanted to accept the bond. Harry didn’t feel right about touching him, not even the slightest of touches, until Draco was conscious and aware of it.

 

When they had explained all of what had happened on the pitch, the four fell silent, waiting while Harry absorbed it all. He felt shaken by the tale, amazed by what Draco had done for him. He turned his attention once more to his bondmate.

 

“How long has he been out?” he asked.

 

“Over twenty-four hours,” Ron said. “Probably about twenty-eight.”

 

It had been a full day, even past that, and Draco still had not awoken? “Is he… is he going to be alright?” Harry asked.

 

“The Healers have said he’ll be fine,” Narcissa said. “He had to use his own magic to focus the magic of the bond. He’s just a bit drained.” She appeared to have some confidence in what the healers had told her, but it was obvious that she was worried. Harry could understand that.

 

“So he’s just resting, then?” Harry asked.

 

“Yes,” Narcissa said. “How are you feeling, Harry?”

 

Harry thought that she might be asking more than that simple, straightforward question but he was too tired to parse through Slytherin semantics. He focused on answering the question she had asked aloud. “Tired, still. But I suppose that could be what I’m getting from Draco. I don’t know. I feel… uncomfortable.” He turned once more to look at Draco and sighed. “I just…”

 

He didn’t finish because he didn’t know what else to say. Harry was fairly certain he knew what he needed. But he still wasn’t sure how he felt about touching Draco when he was not conscious to give consent. And he certainly didn’t know how to ask Draco’s parents and his friends when or if they intended to go home so that, if he did decide to touch his bondmate for the first time, he could do so without an audience.

 

“I believe you may just need some more rest,” Narcissa said. “And since you seem to be somewhat recovered beyond that, I’m sure the rest of us can leave you to it instead of hovering about.”

 

The knowing look Narcissa gave him as she spoke made Harry wonder if she’d cast _Legilimency_ on him. The sly, covert wink she sent him did nothing to reassure him on that. However, since she seemed to be trying to accomplish the privacy that he wanted, Harry wasn’t going to call her on it.

 

Lucius and Ron both looked like they wanted to protest Narcissa’s suggestion, but support for the idea came from Hermione. “I agree with Mrs. Malfoy, Harry. You seem to have come through the worst of this, and even if you fall asleep again the bond should let you know when Draco stirs. The Healers are monitoring you both, anyway.” She had moved to the bedside and bent to kiss his forehead. “I know it’s difficult to really rest when others are around. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Harry was certain that both Ron and Lucius were not convinced, but neither looked inclined to challenge their wives in front of the others. Goodbyes were said, belongings gathered, and very soon, Harry was finally alone with Draco.

 

He settled close beside Draco and propped himself up on his elbow. Looking down at his bondmate, he wondered if he should attempt contact. The initial reluctance was still there; he’d much rather touch Draco when he could gauge his reaction. His bondmark seemed to have other ideas, however. The ticklish sensation increased, seeming to urge him to follow his desire and just touch his mate. Is that what Draco needed to regain consciousness? He had, after all, healed Harry’s injury from the Bludger by touching him.

 

Truth told, Harry had never had much patience for inaction. And he could just imagine Draco telling him what an idiot he’d been if he continued to hesitate when he could have brought Draco round just by touching him all along. And, Draco would have a fair point.

 

Without waiting further, Harry pulled the top of his pajamas over his head and tossed it aside. Getting Draco out of his shirt presented a bigger problem. If Harry’d had his wand handy, he might have tried using magic to remove the shirt. He pondered it for a few moments, then began to unbutton the garment. He felt a bit creepy doing it. He half-expected Draco to wake up at this moment and give him total hell for it; he half-wished Draco would.

 

Rather than removing the shirt, Harry decided to slide the left sleeve off Draco’s shoulder and down his arm just far enough to expose the bondmark. He did so slowly, a bit disconcerted when Draco didn’t stir at all in response. When the bondmark was exposed, Harry couldn’t help but take a few moments to look at it. He knew it matched his own mark exactly. But it was different to see it from this perspective. It was truly beautiful. Harry felt a surge of possessiveness at seeing that mark on Draco. And something else.

 

Harry had been attracted to Draco for years now. But he also admired the way Draco had dealt with the adversities of the Wizarding world at the end of the war. Harry had not hesitated to speak up for Draco and his mother at their trials. When Lucius had been sent back to Azkaban for two years, Draco had not only stepped up to keep the Malfoy home and assets intact, he’d worked to gain acceptance for his family. He hadn’t expected forgiveness, but most people had eventually been willing to bestow it based upon Draco’s efforts and a desire to put the past behind them.

 

Now as he looked at Draco, Harry felt a welling of emotion and knew that it was love. Knew that it had been love for a long time, even when he’d tried to set it aside, thinking Fate had someone else for him.

 

Harry slipped down again, turning toward Draco and aligning their bodies. He didn’t know what to expect when he touched Draco’s bondmark, but knew he could delay doing so no longer. Harry very lightly pressed his fingers to the mark and felt a sudden burst of warmth through his body. Draco remained still. On impulse, Harry moved down a bit so he could press his lips to the bondmark. He did so very lightly. Everything tingled now, and as Harry brushed his lips across the mark, he felt Draco stirring.

 

Replacing his lips with his hand upon Draco’s mark, Harry moved up again to get a better view of Draco’s face. “Open your eyes,” Harry whispered. “Open your eyes.”

 

He hadn’t fully expected this to work, so he was a bit surprised when Draco’s eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, Draco’s eyes opened and focused upon Harry. The breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in came out in a quiet laugh when Draco smiled at him. His previous pallor had receded and his cheeks now had some color. Neither man spoke, just lay there gazing at each other.

 

Harry felt his heartbeat quicken, then became aware that he could feel Draco’s beating as well. It was as if he’d been running and suddenly the fatigue returned. Looking into Draco’s eyes, Harry knew he was feeling the same sensation. He didn’t know if he moved first, or if it was Draco, but the distance between them disappeared, and they pressed their lips together in a kiss. It was light and sweet, but so much better than the dreams he’d had – including the very vivid one on the first day of the New Year. Harry knew when the kiss ended, but didn’t have time to feel anything other than the sensation of contentment before falling once more into unconsciousness.

 

_Two days later:_

Harry had been trying _very hard_ throughout the day not to let his irritation show. Although he didn’t know why he bothered. Draco knew exactly what Harry was feeling. The bondline seemed to be making up for lost time, and they were both feeling a bit overwhelmed by the activity. Harry almost imagined it as a hyperactive puppy zipping back and forth between them, excited to have them so close and aware.

 

On the morning after Draco had regained consciousness, and they had shared that lovely kiss, they’d woken wrapped around each other. Mentally, as well as physically. It was extremely disconcerting. Well, Harry thought the physical part was pretty fantastic. Draco had been a more than a bit upset about the entire situation.

 

The upside was that they both felt fully refreshed and restored, though the Healers had insisted on keeping them in hospital for another day. Harry had chafed at that. He wanted Draco home with him, like, months ago. He hadn’t pressed the matter though, because he could feel how disconcerted and anxious Draco was about this dramatic change of circumstances. Harry couldn’t help feeling hurt, that first day, when he realized Draco had, more than once, tried to figure out a way to make a break for it.

 

They had a swarm of visitors when it became known that they were both finally awake, and Harry was actually grateful for it. It kept them out of each other’s heads so much if they were interacting with other people. They’d even had a visit from Oliver – who had admitted that he’d been jealous of Draco’s interest in Harry. Draco had forgiven him far too quickly, in Harry’s opinion, but he also realized it was as much in an effort to get Oliver to shut up than anything else. If Harry was honest with himself, he took a bit of enjoyment in Draco’s mental flailing at being exposed by Oliver’s comments.

 

It was later that day, when Draco was talking with his mother, that Harry realized he was hoping to go back to Malfoy Manor when they were released from hospital. Draco had actually flinched from Harry’s mental burst of anger. They didn’t talk about it aloud. They hadn’t talked about much of anything aloud. Harry had been trying to allow for Draco’s sense of disorientation at no longer being able to block the bond. But this was further rejection, and it had hurt.

 

As it turned out, Draco’s plans were thwarted by the healers – and the bond. They had Harry and Draco experiment a bit to confirm that the bond would not allow them to be more than a few feet apart. This had sent Draco into yet another bout of panic. Harry wasn’t feeling particularly charitable at this point and allowed all his smugness to flow along the bondline to Draco when the healers told him this was caused, in large part, because the bond had been blocked for so long. Neither of them had been particularly reassured when the Healers explained that, as the bond settled, they would be allowed more and more physical distance. The fact that Harry’s disappointment at this news was motivated by Draco’s obvious desire to restore distance between them only emphasized that they had a lot of adjustment ahead of them.

 

They’d slept again that night in their shared hospital bed, though Draco had insisted they keep to their separate sides. Harry had been surprised, therefore, that Draco hadn’t pulled away when they’d woken in the middle of the night once more wrapped in what could only be described as a full-body embrace. He hadn’t even complained when Harry had kissed him on the forehead before they settled back in to sleep.

 

And now they were home. Draco had made his reluctance to go home with Harry abundantly clear, so he had been encouraged by Draco’s genuine admiration of Hengist Hall as they stood in front of it after Apparating in. Draco had actually deigned to bestow a verbal compliment and had listened attentively when Harry had explained the history of the property. Draco had even asked Harry questions about it, curious to know how far the lands extended and any updates and expansion of the original structure.

 

As he had been for most of the morning, Draco continued somewhat subdued when Harry had given him a tour of the interior of the house. Harry had actually tried to pull back a bit from the bond to give Draco some space. It hadn’t worked completely, but since they’d both been trying to give each other some mental privacy at the same time, the bondline seemed to mellow a bit. Draco had at least appeared to appreciate Harry’s efforts in that regard. He’d also seemed extremely pleased that Harry had left several areas of the home for Draco to renovate and decorate as he chose.

 

 _I reckoned you’d have some opinions about that._ Harry had sent the thought along the bondline.

 

“Yes, you’re right,” Draco had answered him aloud, seeming determined to create distance wherever he could. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

 

Harry responded aloud, in kind. “I just thought it would make it more _our_ home if we both had a hand in fixing it up.” Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to send feelings and hopes regarding _home_ and _forever_ and _love_ through the bond.

 

Draco had pled hunger at that point and asked to see the kitchen, neatly bypassing the area of the house where the master bedroom was located. Harry had allowed it. They couldn’t avoid it forever, after all. He’d set about making them sandwiches for lunch, promising something more substantial for the evening meal. This had led to discussion of house-elves. It was obvious that Draco anticipated an argument from Harry on this point, given his association with a certain Hermione Granger-Weasley.

 

Harry had tried for an appearance of reluctance. “I don’t know. I may not have the aversion to having house-elves that Hermione has, but I’ve managed alright by myself so far.”

 

Draco seemed about to respond, but then narrowed his eyes and kicked at Harry’s leg under the table. “I can clearly discern that you’re perfectly willing to consider the idea. Why are you pretending otherwise?”

 

“Because you like to feel you’ve used your Slytherin skills of persuasion to get your way,” Harry had answered immediately, grinning. “I’m just trying to be accommodating.”

 

An immediate surge panic hit Harry through the bondline. Draco jumped to his feet and turned to leave, only to turn quickly back, grab the plate with his sandwich and crisps, and turn to leave once more. The thought of following him had no more than flickered in Harry’s mind before Draco shouted, “STAY!!”

 

Harry tossed the crisp he’d been about to eat back onto his plate. “This is stupid!” he yelled, knowing it was unnecessary to raise his voice when Draco could read his mind, but just needing to do it anyway. It was extra ridiculous because Draco could go no further than just outside the door of the room. Evidently they’d be able to move a little farther apart each day, but it would be quite some time before the bond would allow them any significant physical distance away from each other.

 

So, Harry gave free rein to his irritation and settled into thorough disgruntlement. The sulkiness he received back in response, tinged with a hint of vindication for some reason, did not come as any surprise.

 

 _Fine._ Harry thought more to himself than at Draco. _I suppose this will just be the way of things. At least for a while._

 

He didn’t really understand why that little hint of vindication grew of a sudden, transforming Draco’s sulkiness into something more smug and… sad. And, frankly, he was tired of trying to understand why Draco was being so… Draco.

It was just then that Harry heard the crash of what could only have been the plate that Draco had carried out with him smashing as it made contact with a wall. He refrained from throwing his own plate, and settled for letting his head thunk down against the table. He hoped Draco could feel that, too.

 

_Later the same day:_

Harry was humoring him now, Draco knew. He’d felt guilty for yelling earlier. Harry had been of the opinion that things had been going pretty well until Draco’s “little scene” at lunch, and he now regretted losing his temper and shouting.

 

 _Little scene. Pfft._ Draco thought, knowing that Harry would hear it. In return he got the image of a haughty cat, white fur bristled indignantly. Without thinking, he brought a hand up to smooth his hair. Harry snickered.

 

“Arse,” Draco whispered vehemently. Harry didn’t really respond to that, though Draco was certain he had overheard it from the less than fifteen feet they’d managed between them. Harry just continued to follow along in as much silence and space as the bond would allow, as Draco wandered from room to room.

 

Draco took in the different elements of architecture in the house, allowing his mind to wander in the unfinished rooms to consider how he might furnish them. Those thoughts seemed to evoke contentment in Harry, but Draco could only respond to it with anxiety. Disbelief that Fate would really allow him to have this made it impossible for him to permit any kind of hope.

 

He hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was going, so Draco was taken aback to find himself in front of the dragon doors. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch the beautiful aged wood and trace the pattern of the dragons.

 

“They’re original to the house,” Harry said quietly.

 

Draco knew he’d spoken aloud to give the illusion of distance. He didn’t answer, instead laying his face against the door as his hands continued to stroke the wood.

 

“I haven’t been able to find out exactly why the people who built the house wanted dragons,” Harry continued.

 

 _Fate_ was what Draco heard Harry thinking. Or maybe he was thinking it himself. Because what Harry was thinking now was how he liked the way Draco looked against those doors. A lot. Draco’s anxiety spiked and he lashed out, bringing to his mind the other emotion that Harry had often broadcast when seeing these dragons: guilt. Draco sent accusation along the bondline: Harry’s infidelity to his bondmate. Harry’s response was so strong that Draco winced and closed his eyes. There was shock like a punch to the gut, then that guilt. Then confusion and, finally, irritation.

 

“Draco! **_You_** are my bondmate. I can’t have been unfaithful to you.”

 

Draco remembered the longing Harry had felt when he looked at the dragons, his desire for Draco that always preceded that guilt. _You didn’t know that at the time,_ he thought at Harry.

 

He could feel that Harry had closed most of the distance between them. He responded to Draco verbally instead of sending it along the bondline. “Now you’re just being difficult, Draco.”

 

Again Draco scoffed, but then sent his reply silently. _What did you expect?_

Harry reaction was unanticipated. He laughed. Loud and long and genuine. Draco actually turned toward him, putting his back against the doors so he could observe Harry’s insanity. When Harry finally regained a measure of composure, he stepped right up into Draco’s space and answered him aloud.

 

“You’re right, Draco. I should have expected you to be difficult, because you always have been. Difficult,” Harry moved closer, “and opinionated,” closer still, “and the most fucking obstinate person I have ever met.”

 

Harry’s body pressed all along Draco’s. He had his arms on either side of Draco’s head, boxing him in against the doors. “And evidently determined to deny both of us the gift that Fate has bestowed.” Harry softened his gaze and brought one of his hands over to brush a thumb along Draco’s cheek. Draco decided to allow it. Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks,” he said.

 

Draco lowered his gaze. Unable to hold Harry’s which was brimming with emotion. Somehow that had seemed more intimate than Harry’s presence in his mind. _You said yourself we could never make it work. How do I know you haven’t just convinced yourself that you have feelings for me only because you think Fate has ordained it or something.”_

 

As he’d conveyed these thoughts to Harry, he’d recreated the image of Harry and Ron and the conversation he’d overheard between them in Andromeda’s kitchen. It was obvious that Harry remembered it, and his claim that a relationship between them was untenable.

 

Harry shook his head and sighed. “I was frustrated, Draco. And a little humbled as well. You’d always turned me down when you came out with us after the matches – yes I know, drunken courting is a bad idea – but then you wouldn’t even talk to me at Teddy’s birthday party. It was much easier to believe that there never could have been anything between us than to admit that you might have just found me completely repulsive.”

 

The way his body was tingling in response to Harry pressed against him would make pretending to find Harry repulsive patently ridiculous. Draco tried anyway, sending that _yes you’re disgusting_ vibe along the bondline to him. He peeked at Harry’s face to see if he bought it, which of course he plainly didn’t.

 

“You know how I feel about you,” Harry said. “And I know you can tell that my feelings are genuine and were a part of me long before the bondmark manifested.” Harry leaned in and placed his forehead against Draco’s. _And we both know that I can now tell exactly what your feelings are as well_ Harry thought at him. “Now let’s make something else perfectly clear.” Harry reached down to grasp Draco’s arm where the Dark Mark was located. He brought the arm up and flattened the back of it against the door so the Dark Mark was turned out to be plainly visible. Harry stroked his thumb along it just as he had done earlier with Draco’s cheek. “This is part of what has made you who you are, Draco. We can’t deny that it ever existed, because that would change the man you’ve become. I love that man.”

 

Draco exhaled a shuddering sigh. He wanted to believe it, but he still felt undeserving. Afraid to believe that he would be allowed to keep something so he’d wanted for so long.

 

Harry smiled. “Oh? How long?” He laughed at Draco’s irritated expression, but it turned to a groan when Draco jabbed him in the stomach with his free hand. “Alright!” Harry said, smiling again. “I promise not to give you too much hell about pining for me, since I spent so much time doing the same.” Harry’s smile softened and he added, “I’m just asking you to believe in us, Draco. Just… accept that we are meant to be.” He cupped Draco’s cheek and whispered, “Stop denying your Fate.”

 

Draco’s eyes flew open wide. He hadn’t thought of it in that way. He’d just decided that Fate must have made a mistake. But, honestly, how likely was that? And he’d been so hurt when he’d thought that Harry had denied his Fate when he first received the bondmark.

 

“That’s not true,” Harry said earnestly, following Draco’s thoughts. “I may have been frustrated because it seemed like just one more crazy thing in my life. But, you know that feeling didn’t last, and you know exactly what I’m feeling now.” Harry released Draco’s left arm to allow it to hang naturally down his side. Then he slipped his hand up to caress the bondmark through the fabric of Draco’s shirt. When he did so, both of them experienced a rather pleasant jolt. “And this is the only mark that matters now.”

 

Draco could tell that Harry wanted him to acknowledge this, to agree once and for all that they were starting something new here, something precious. But… Draco being Draco…

 

 _Very well, Potter._ Draco sent the words along the bondline as he shifted suggestively against Harry and nipped at his neck. _I will permit you to court me. Perhaps one day, I will even agree to marry you. You may begin the wooing._ Draco didn’t quite understand Harry’s odd image of cows and free milk at such an important moment. Deciding it was totally irrelevant and that Harry needed to work on his focus, Draco used one hand to grab Harry by the shirt and pull him into the bedroom as he used his other hand to reach around and open the door.

 

“Are you going to continue to communicate silently?” Harry asked as they began stripping clothing off on their way to the bed.

 

 _Does it bother you?_ Draco laughed at Harry’s attempt to confuse him by flashing ‘yesnoyesnoyesnoyesno’ in his mind. Harry pushed him onto the bed and pounced on him in response.

 

“Bet I can make you break your silence,” Harry said, with a wicked smirk.

 

He hadn’t even a moment to form a reply before Harry had moved between his legs and had Draco’s cock in his mouth. “Oh!” Draco gasped. He smacked Harry on the head for the image of a victory lap he smugly sent along the bondline.

 

The teasing quickly subsided. The bond heightened each sensation, taking sex to a level far beyond what either of them had ever experienced. Since both Harry and Draco had spent an entire year devoid of sex beyond what their own hands provided and their one dream encounter, they both came quickly. It might have been embarrassing if they hadn’t both been equally out of control.

 

Harry flopped down beside Draco and there was a bit of scrambling around to avoid the wet spot he’d created on the sheets. Their wands had been discarded with their clothes, but neither man had yet recovered normal breathing enough to manage even an _Accio._

 

Eventually their heart rates slowed and post-orgasm drowsiness threatened. Draco, eyes closed though he knew that Harry was watching him, smiled. When he spoke, his voice was a bit raspy from the shouts Harry’s efforts had pulled from him. “Well, that’s a nice perk.”

 

“The extra-good feeling thing, or the bondmark glowy thing?” Harry asked.

 

“The Harry can’t put together a coherent sentence after Draco rocks his world thing,” Draco said, laughing. Harry bit his shoulder in retaliation.

 

“I more or less expected the glowy thing, though. Didn’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said. “It will be interesting to see how it reacts to… other things.” Harry actually sent a mental eyebrow wiggle since Draco’s eyes were still closed. “Just stop. Please.”

 

“Really?” Harry asked. “No more extra-good feelings thing?”

 

When Draco opened his eyes to look over at Harry he received an exaggerated pout. “No,” he said, poking at Harry’s bottom lip. “The extra-good feeling thing must continue. At all costs.”

 

“Yeah, that’s definitely a perk,” Harry agreed. “It will probably make having to put up with you in non-sexual situations well worth it.” He received the back of Draco’s hand slapped against his chest for his efforts.

 

 _I know how you really feel_ Draco thought at him. And it was true. He had finally allowed himself to feel all of Harry’s love for him – and he accepted it.

 

Harry took Draco’s hand and entwined their fingers. Draco was relieved to see Harry wearing the totally besotted expression he was certain was on his own face. Though quite unnecessary, he sent Draco assurances that he understood. Then his face morphed into the ridiculous leer that Draco had seen more than once during Harry’s drunken attempts at seduction. His smile widened in anticipation of what Harry would say.

 

“I think we should explore that idea. Make sure you really know how I feel _everywhere,_ baby.”

 

Draco laughed and rolled his eyes. “Merlin help us.”

 

“What?” Harry grinned. “This is me wooing you.”

 

“Yes, well you’re supposed to be better at it when your sober, aren’t you? I guess you just suck at seduction overall. You’re fortunate I like you so much.”

 

Harry tugged at his hand, pulling at him until Draco lay atop his body. Harry wound his hands around Draco’s back and then slipped down to grab his arse. _Well, maybe I’m more a man of action than words._

 

Draco arched into the sensation as his cock filled in response to it. “I’d say that’s a fairly safe assumption. You can hardly be any worse at words.” He leaned down and brushed his lips playfully against Harry’s. Then he set about kissing him in earnest and things went a little fuzzy. _But we may need to test this theory._ Draco hoped he managed to think the comment at Harry.

 

He knew he was successful when Harry thought, _Too right. Never safe to just assume._

 

“Besides,” Draco said, “I really want to see what happens with the bondmark glowy thing.”

 

Harry laughed and rolled Draco onto his back. “Baby, I’m gonna light up your world.”

 

And he did.

 

The end.

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